


Once Bitten, Twice Shy

by bartonfink1974



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 54,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27710063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bartonfink1974/pseuds/bartonfink1974
Summary: Hermione has fought inequality her whole life, but some prejudices run so deep that even defeating Voldemort is not enough to overcome them. The final battle has left Harry and Hermione facing the greatest challenge of their lives, one that tests love and friendships to the limit. This is a slow burn H/Hr story set Post Book Seven, ignoring epilogue.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 37
Kudos: 117





	1. Aftermath

Harry Potter brushed off yet another congratulatory pat on the back as he picked his way through the throng that teemed throughout the great hall of Hogwarts. He was absolutely shattered and was in no mood to accept the congratulations of the multitude of well-wishers who continued to approach him. Indeed, he wasn’t in the mood for anything right now; instead he just wanted to find his two friends and retreat to a quiet corner somewhere, out of the way from all the attention. He wasn’t having much luck though.

He knew that he should be feeling elated; that having finally defeated his mortal enemy after years of struggle, he should be revelling in the joy that the future now promised. But he could not bring himself to appreciate the moment; for one thing, he was dog-tired. For another, he knew that too many good people had died to make the victory possible. He smiled grimly to himself; perhaps it was his “saving people thing” but he found that he could not rejoice with the others when he had not destroyed Voldemort soon enough to prevent so many premature deaths.

He was also still trying to come to terms with two facts. One was that he had _died_ in the forest earlier – something that he thought he would never get his head around, despite Dumbledore’s explanations. The second issue he was facing was the fact that he had just killed a man. That it was Voldemort who had died by his hand did not lessen the feeling of horror he was experiencing at having taken a human life, regardless of how vile that life had been. It was only now that he had allowed his mind to dwell on it that he finally realised the meaning of that cursed prophecy. 

_Either must die at the hand of the other._

While it had not been a killing curse he had cast, Voldemort was still dead by his hand. He knew that he should be pleased; indeed, the evident joy of so many of those around him told him that no one would judge him for doing what he had done. 

_But I will. I killed a man today._

His thoughts were interrupted by yet more congratulations and he found himself smiling mechanically at some familiar faces but inwardly he was in turmoil. He was actually beginning to feel sick and was experiencing the horrible feeling that the walls of castle surrounding him were somehow closing in on him – almost as if they were trying to crush him. He took a few deep breaths, aware that he was struggling to maintain his composure and he cast his glance wildly around the hall, seeking out the two people he knew he had to see _right now_. 

He jumped suddenly as he felt another hand on his shoulder and turned sharply, a biting comment on the edge of his tongue. But when he saw who it was that had approached him his expression softened and he actually managed a smile as he looked upon a friend.

‘Luna,’ he said softly. ‘I’m so glad to see you made it. Are you OK?’

Luna Lovegood eyed him for longer than was strictly necessary in his opinion, but he didn’t mind. Luna was a friend and could take liberties with him that he would not tolerate with others. She seemed to be checking him out – almost looking _into_ him as she cast her eyes over his entire form. Finally, she nodded as if satisfied by something. 

‘Ron and Hermione are in the hospital wing,’ she finally said. She noticed the sudden look of fear in his eyes. ‘They’re OK, Harry. Don’t worry. Hermione just got a scratch, I think. I just reckoned that you would want to see them. I know I would if I were you. This must be horrible for you.’

Harry stifled the sudden lurch he had felt on hearing about Ron and Hermione and regarded Luna fondly. Trust her to realise that he would be having difficulty right now when everyone else assumed he would be revelling in the victory. She really was a remarkable person. 

‘Thanks, Luna. I do want to see them. I’ll just go right up.’ He made to leave but turned back to his friend. ‘Just a scratch, right?’ he asked, and the concern was evident in his voice. 

Luna nodded. ‘Just a scratch. At least, that’s what Ginny told me. I’m sure we would have heard if it was anything worse.’ 

He nodded at the observation, knowing that she was right. If something really bad had happened to Ron or Hermione he would have known by now. He flashed Luna one last smile before turning and heading out of the hall and as far from the attention he could get at that moment. He needed to see his best friends and as he moved through the shattered corridors of Hogwarts, he found himself picking up the pace so that by the time he finally arrived at the hospital wing he was actually running. He realised what he was doing and forced himself to stop, taking a few deep breaths before gently swinging open the doors to the infirmary. When his eyes took in the scene, he found himself glad that he had not sprinted into the room. 

The ward was full of injured people and he noticed that every bed was full. He closed his eyes, knowing that the price of victory was still to be fully paid. He saw both Molly and Ginny as they bustled between beds handing out potions and carrying bandages and he felt a sudden rush of affection as his eyes fell on the youngest Weasley child. He knew they had some unresolved issues between them but now was emphatically not the time to deal with it. He noticed too that Molly and Ginny were not the only ones tending to the wounded; indeed, just about every able-bodied teacher was doing likewise and – of course – the indefatigable Poppy was orchestrating events. He cast his eyes over each bed in turn, recognising each victim and feeling strangely guilty that he did not have the inclination to approach anyone. He was looking for two particular people and he felt a panic rise in his throat as he frantically scanned the room. He couldn’t see either Ron or Hermione and he was just about to corner someone to ask when he heard the voice of Bill Weasley coming from behind one of the drawn curtains. He carefully approached the source of the voice and was relieved that no one in the room had noticed his presence. The last thing he wanted right now was more adulation – especially from these people; the real heroes of the battle in his opinion. 

As he neared the bed, he heard voices he recognised and to his relief he realised that it was Ron and Hermione he could hear and both sounded fine. He quietly drew back the curtain and slipped into the cubicle to stand next to his friends. He smiled in greeting but soon had it wiped from his face as he realised that Hermione was crying as she lay on the bed and Ron looked as if he was going to be sick as he stood next to her. Glancing at Bill, he noticed that he too had a grim expression on his face. 

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked the concern evident in his voice. 

Hermione and Ron shared a long look with one another. Neither replied. 

‘I said, what’s wrong?’ he repeated. 

He realised that Hermione wouldn’t meet his eye and that Ron looked as if he would rather be anywhere else right at this moment. Finally, his red-haired friend managed a response. 

‘Hermione got bitten.’ 

It took a moment for this to register. ‘Bitten? Bitten by what?’ 

To Harry’s growing irritation, Ron looked away. ‘Would someone mind telling me what is going on?’ he added. There was more than a hint of anger in his voice as he asked this. 

Surprisingly it was Bill who answered. 

‘By Fenrir Greyback,’ he said quietly. 

It took a few seconds for the implications of this news to sink in. Once more he felt his surroundings enclose him, almost suffocate him as he tried to deal with this dreadful news. Finally, he turned to Hermione who still would not look him in the eye. 

‘Hermione?’ he said softly. ‘Look at me, Hermione,’ he added. He waited a few moments until finally she turned to face him and his heart nearly broke in his chest when he saw the look of despair on her face. He noticed that she was covering her right arm with her left, almost as if trying to protect him from this awful truth. He crouched down beside the bed and looked her straight in the eye as he gently moved her arm so he could see the wound. When he glanced at the afflicted arm he saw an angry red tear in her skin and he felt a surge of rage as he contemplated the pain of his friend. He turned to face her. 

‘Are you sure it was Greyback?’ he asked softly. He realised that she was still avoiding his gaze. He gently placed his fingers under her chin and lifted her head so she could not avoid him. 

‘Are you sure it was Greyback?’ he repeated. ‘When did he bite you?’ 

He saw the fear in her eyes before she replied. ‘I don’t know, Harry. I never realised I had been bitten until after you had defeated Voldemort. It was only when Ron spotted the blood on my arm that I realised something was wrong.’ 

Harry considered her words. ‘So we don’t now for sure that it was Greyback?’ he asked, hope in his voice. Bill killed that dead. 

‘We know, Harry. There is no doubt that is a werewolf bite. And no doubt it was Greyback. I recognise the scent. There is no doubt at all,’ he concluded and Harry realised that Bill Weasley would know all about this sort of thing. He made to reply but Bill evidently wasn’t finished. 

‘As I was just explaining to Hermione, the real question at stake is whether or not Greyback was transformed when she was bitten,’ continued the elder Weasley sibling. ‘Unfortunately, she doesn’t know. Greyback was seen in both forms tonight and a lot depends on what form he was in when he bit her.’ He looked at Harry expectantly after saying this. Harry didn’t disappoint.

‘How could he have been seen in both forms? He’s either a werewolf or he’s not?’ The confusion in his voice was evident. “Besides, it’s not a full moon tonight, so how could he been fully transformed?’

‘I don’t know, Harry’ replied Bill softly. ‘I do know that I saw him in human form and when I spoke to Remus earlier he was adamant that he saw him transformed. That was before…’ Bill tailed off, his eyes misty.

Harry closed his eyes knowing that Bill didn’t need to finish the sentence. _Before he was killed._ And he realised that Moony would have known Greyback in either form; there could be no doubt, however impossible it seemed. That led him to another question and he found himself cursing his ignorance.

‘What difference does his form make?’ he asked. He heard Hermione sigh and when he turned to face her he saw her roll her eyes in an all-too familiar way. Surprisingly, the gesture made him feel more at ease. 

‘Did you ever listen in class, Harry?’ she asked. ‘If a human is bitten by a werewolf in human form, the victim will only acquire some lupine tendencies. However, if the werewolf is transformed then the victim will be fully cursed.’

‘And we don’t know what form Greyback was in when he bit Hermione,’ continued Ron. 

Harry closed his eyes as he considered this new information. It occurred to him that _how_ Greyback had managed to transform was irrelevant right now. There was one thing that stood out; one obvious question that needed answered. ‘When’s the next full moon?’ he asked quietly. 

‘The eleventh of May,’ replied Bill without hesitation. Harry had known that Bill would have the dates of each full moon engraved in his brain. He nodded. 

‘So we will have to wait nine days before we know the…extent of Hermione’s injuries?’ He saw that Hermione looked away from him as he asked this and he felt an overwhelming sense of sympathy and love for her at that moment. 

‘Eight,’ replied Bill. He noticed Harry’s confused look and sighed. ‘A perfect full moon only occurs when the ecliptic longitudes of the sun and the moon differ by 180 degrees, Harry. This only lasts for about a minute because the moon is constantly moving in relation to the sun. But to the human eye, the moon looks full from roughly 95% illuminated - Waxing Gibbous - to 95% the other side – Waning Gibbous. In eight days the moon will be past this point. That’s when it starts to affect those who are cursed. So we will know by the tenth. 

Harry wished he had spent more time listening in Astronomy because he barely understood a word Bill had said. But one thing stood out.

_Eight days._

‘Who else knows?’ he finally asked. 

‘McGonagall and Pomfrey,’ Ron replied quickly. ‘No one else.’ 

He nodded his understanding at the words and turned his attention back to his friend in the bed. He gently stroked her hair as he decided what to say next. 

‘This doesn’t change anything, you know,’ he finally managed. ‘This doesn’t make any difference to the way Ron and I feel about you. Isn’t that right, Ron?’ 

He glanced up and saw Ron shake himself out of a seeming trance before hastily replying. 

‘What? Yeah! Erm...doesn’t change a thing,’ he finally managed. Harry gave him a baleful look before turning back to Hermione. Once again he tilted her head so she could not avoid his gaze. 

‘This changes nothing,’ he repeated. ‘Whatever happens, I – that is we – want you to know that we are here for you and that you will always be our friend. You are still _you_ , Hermione. Nothing will ever change that – not even a bloody werewolf bite. Don’t ever think we would abandon you now. Not after everything you have done for us. We’ll get through this together, just like we have gotten through everything else together. Right?’ He smiled softly suddenly. ‘Did you really think we would think any less of you for this?’ 

Hermione didn’t reply. Instead, the tears that she had been suppressing burst forth and she threw herself into his arms and allowed herself to be comforted. He whispered soothing words into her ear as he held her and stroked her hair but he also cast a warning glance in Ron’s direction. His look said it all. 

_You should be doing this, you pillock! You kissed this girl a couple of hours ago!_

He did not know how long he held her but eventually the curtain surrounding the bed was slid across and Minerva and Poppy joined them around Hermione’s bed, the latter carrying what looked like a bundle of clothes. Harry reluctantly let go of his friend and felt the same reluctance as she released him too before leaning back in her bed. He noticed McGonagall regard him with a beady look but he had seen the tenderness in her eyes before she had adopted a sterner mien. She was fooling no one, but he decided to play along. 

‘You three will have to leave for a few minutes,’ said the Acting Head-Teacher of Hogwarts. ‘Hermione will be spending the night in the hospital wing. She has some potions to take and she will have to get changed into more appropriate attire,’ she added meaningfully. 

The three males surrounding the bed took the hint immediately. 

‘In that case, we had better give her some privacy,’ said Bill. ‘Come on you two; time to go.’ 

Harry nodded his agreement and cast a glance at Hermione. He gave her as warm a smile as he could manage as he leaned out and gently touched her arm. ‘Don’t worry,’ he began. ‘We’ll get through this together.’ He surprised them both by leaning down and gently kissing the top of her head. He did not see the softening of the expressions on the faces of Minerva and Poppy. 

Hermione gave him a tremulous smile as he backed away from the bed and his heart broke as he saw what this was doing to his dearest friend. Hermione was normally so strong; the one to keep her head in a crisis and yet he knew she was really struggling to come to terms with what had happened. He gave her one last smile before slipping behind the curtain then turned his attention to Ron and Bill. He was not smiling now. 

‘You two come with me. We need to talk,’ he said curtly as he walked towards the exit. He did not look back to see if he was being followed. 

Ron and Bill shared a look before shrugging and turning to follow. It would not do to upset Harry when he was in this mood. When he had spoken to them he had done so in a voice that brooked no argument. 

_Besides_ , thought Bill. _How can someone refuse an order from the man who just destroyed Voldemort?_

oOoOoOoOoOo

Hermione Granger took the proffered goblet from Poppy Pomfrey and sat back in her bed as she allowed the Hogwarts nurse to treat the bite mark on her arm. She was experiencing a sense of unreality as she considered everything that had happened this fateful day – indeed; everything that had happened to her over the course of the past year. She was vaguely aware that her system was in a state of shock but for once she could not summon the will to use her reason to alleviate her distress. Quite simply; too much had happened. 

She had barely begun to come to terms with the victory Harry had finally gained over Lord Voldemort when Ron had noticed the deep gash on her arm. What she had assumed to be nothing more than a nasty cut took on more sinister connotations when Poppy had originally inspected the wound. It was only when the nurse had summoned Bill Weasley to ask his opinion that she had realised that something was seriously amiss. There could only be one reason for wanting to speak to Bill. 

And Bill had confirmed her worst fears. It was a werewolf bite. She felt contaminated; tainted in some way and she was trying to overcome a feeling of self-loathing that threatened to overwhelm her. She closed her eyes as the stark truth of everything hit home. _I’m a werewolf. Forever cursed. Forever damned._

_Forever shunned._

The only hope she clung onto at the moment was the chance that she had not been bitten when Greyback was transformed. She genuinely could not remember receiving the wound – indeed; she could not recall being anywhere near Greyback at any point in the battle. But then, the struggle had been so intense that one was only aware of what was immediately threatening. Greyback must have nicked her as she passed him, but she could not work out when this might have occurred. But this was a futile exercise anyway. Greyback had bitten her; all she could do now was wait and see. 

She allowed her thoughts to consider Harry’s reaction and despite her predicament a small smile formed on her face. She’d been genuinely worried. She’d felt so ashamed at the prospect of being cursed that she hadn’t wanted anyone to know. Indeed; had Ron not been in attendance when Bill had confirmed Poppy’s suspicions she doubted that she would have told even him. She certainly had not intended telling Harry – not after everything else he had been though. He had enough to deal with. 

She closed her eyes as she remembered the horrible moment when Hagrid had appeared in front of the school with Harry’s dead body in his arms. Her heart had stopped at that moment – a part of her had actually flown from her as she looked on the still form of her dearest friend. His sudden resurrection; his unlikely triumph over Voldemort was still astonishing to her and she knew he would be struggling to deal with the fact that he had just killed someone. He had enough on his plate without worrying about her and she still wanted to speak to him to find out exactly what had happened earlier. There were more than a few issues she had to take him to task about. 

But his reaction had been exactly what she had needed. She knew Ron was dealing with his own issues; that he and Bill were mourning the loss of Fred and that her own needs were second to their grief. But Harry had held her so tenderly and told her exactly what she needed to hear. 

_This doesn’t change anything, you know… We’ll get through this together._

A simple declaration and yet one that made all the difference.

_Whatever happens, I’m not alone._

She had Ron and she had Harry and so long as that remained true she knew she could deal with whatever was to come. 

oOoOoOoOoOo

Ron Weasley quietly closed the door of the Transfiguration classroom behind him and turned to Harry, a questioning look on his face. He saw too that Bill had a similar expression of curiosity. Harry must have noticed their bemusement for his stern look suddenly vanished and he smiled ruefully at them both. 

‘I’m sorry, lads. I know you have enough to be dealing with just now.’ 

Ron noticed his expression soften as he said this and he knew Harry was thinking about Fred – something he still had to deal with himself, he knew. ‘So what is it then? Why do you want to speak to us?’ he asked, still curious about Harry’s motives for bringing them here. 

Harry took a deep breath, almost as if he was trying to answer that question himself. ‘I guess I just wanted more information. I’m not really sure what all of this means.’ 

‘We won’t know exactly what we face until the full moon, Harry,’ said Bill. ‘It really all depends on whether or not Greyback was transformed. He was in human form when he attacked me and – apart from the scars – you wouldn’t think anything was wrong with me.’ 

‘There is nothing wrong with you!’ exclaimed Harry. ‘There’s nothing wrong with Hermione either!’ 

Bill looked on him sadly. ‘Harry? These sentiments do you credit; they really do. But _there is_ _something wrong with me_ – _and Hermione_. We have been bitten by a werewolf! This isn’t a minor affliction; it is a big deal and unless you can accept that you will never be able to appreciate what she is going to be facing. You have to understand this; not everyone is as enlightened as you when it comes to werewolves. You saw the sort of life Remus was forced to live. It’s not so bad for me but if Hermione is fully cursed, she will have to deal with all sorts of prejudice and discrimination. The fact that she is a Muggle-born won’t help either. She’s doubly damned to some people.’ 

‘She’s not damned!’ 

‘I never said she was Harry. I said that is how some people will look on her.’ Bill paused and waited for these words to sink in. ‘I’m not the enemy here, Harry,’ he added quietly. 

Harry looked at his feet. ‘I know, Bill. I’m sorry. It’s just…so much to deal with. It’s just not fair!’ He looked back up at them, his hands balled into fists by his side. ‘She has been through so much; done so much for me and Ron and now this?’ He turned away and Ron knew that it was so no one would see him fighting the tears.

A long silence followed this outburst and Ron shared a look with his brother. It was some time before anyone spoke. 

‘So it’s just us three, McGonagall and Pomfrey who know?’ asked Harry as he turned to face them again. 

Ron nodded. 

‘Good. We need to make sure it stays that way,’ Harry continued. He saw the looks of protest forming on the faces of the two men in front of him. ‘Look; I know people will have to be informed sooner or later, but I think that is for Hermione to decide. She calls the shots on this; right?’ 

‘Right,’ replied Bill. Ron became aware that Harry was expecting an answer from him too. ‘Yeah; right,’ he finally managed. 

Harry gave him a long look. ‘Bill? Do you think you could give us a few moments alone?’ he asked quietly. 

Bill looked surprised by the question. ‘S…s…sure,’ he replied, casting a glance from one to the other. ‘I’ll pop back up to see Hermione. She might have some more questions for me.’ 

Harry smiled, despite the seriousness of the situation. ‘She will; no doubt about that. She’s always got questions.’ 

Bill acknowledged this observation with a smile of his own before turning and slipping out of the room. Ron watched him go before turning to his friend. It was only then that he noticed the fierce look in Harry’s eyes. 

‘What is the matter with you?’ Harry snapped. 

‘What are you talking about?’ asked Ron, genuinely perplexed. 

‘I’m talking about the fact that your _girlfriend_ needs you right now and as far as I can see you haven’t even offered her a hug. She is your girlfriend; right? That kiss did mean something?’ Harry’s tone was scathing; his words lashing Ron like a whip. 

‘Of course it meant something!’ exclaimed Ron, anger in his voice. ‘I’m just struggling to deal with it all, OK? Yes, I want her to be my girlfriend! What does that have to do with anything?’ 

‘It has everything to do with it,’ replied Harry, his voice softer now that he had seen Ron’s indignation; his obvious distress and anger. He took a breath before continuing. ‘She needs you, Ron. Right now, she needs you more than anyone. You have to put your own feelings aside – even your feelings for Fred. Do you understand that? You will have time to grieve later – she doesn’t have that luxury. She has no one else. Her parents are in Australia and we are all she has got. You are her boyfriend. Go to her. Go right now and just be there for her. Please?’

Ron noticed that his voice had cracked as he made the appeal and he felt suddenly ashamed of himself for putting his own feelings before Hermione’s. _This must be hell on earth for her_ he realised. He hardened his expression and gave Harry a firm nod. 

‘You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll go to her now. Are you coming?’ 

Harry shook his head. ‘She knows I’m here when she needs me. Right now, she needs you; I’ll just get in the way. Go on; go to her. I’ll see you later.’ 

Ron nodded his agreement and headed for the door. He opened it and slipped through but before he closed it behind him he took one last glance into the classroom. Harry had slumped on to a desk, his head in his hands and Ron could hear him sobbing quietly.

He closed the door quickly and headed for the hospital wing. He felt uncomfortable, almost as if he had just intruded on some private grief. He shook his head and willed himself to be strong. He knew he had not always been a reliable friend in the past – indeed; his actions in the tent during the past winter were evidence of that. 

_But not this time. Harry’s right; she needs me right now and I’m going to be there for her._

oOoOoOoOoOo

Hermione glanced up as the curtain surrounding her bed slid open and Ron strode in before pulling it behind him and sitting in the seat next to her. She had been talking to Bill and was more grateful than she could convey that he was taking the time to explain to her everything that he thought she needed to know about dealing with a werewolf bite. She diverted her gaze from Ron back to Bill as he stood to leave. 

‘I’ll leave you to it. I really need to see my wife,’ he said with a soft smile. 

Hermione smiled her gratitude. She knew that the Weasleys had their own personal tragedy to deal with and yet here was Bill trying to comfort her. Fleur was an extremely lucky woman to have such a man. 

_But I have my own Weasley,_ she thought to herself as she turned to Ron. She smiled at him but found herself having to force it as she suddenly realised that Ron was alone. 

‘Where’s Harry?’ she asked. 

Ron looked a little put out at the question but recovered. ‘He thought…er, that is…he reckoned that we might want some time alone. You know…because…because…’ 

‘Because we kissed?’ she finished for him. 

Ron reddened. ‘Yeah. That.’ 

Hermione rolled her eyes. _Trust Harry. Even now; even after everything he has done he is still thinking about others. It must be his saving people thing._

‘Who’s with him?’ she finally asked. 

‘Er…no one,’ replied Ron. 

She sat up straighter in her bed at this revelation. ‘No one?’ she blurted, the incredulity evident in her voice. ‘You can’t leave him on his own! Not after everything he’s been through.’ 

Surprisingly, Ron smiled. ‘I guess that is exactly what he thinks about you right now. He said to say that he’s there if you need him, but he reckoned…well; he reckoned we might want to be alone for now.’ 

She shook her head in disbelief. ‘He’s been through too much today – he needs someone to keep an eye on him. Go to him, Ron; I’ll be fine.’ 

Ron shook his head. ‘Not a chance, Hermione. Harry will be fine. In fact; I reckon he wants to be alone right now,’ he added as he remembered the figure of despair that Harry had cut as he had left the classroom. _No; Harry won’t want to see anyone until he’s ready._

Hermione accepted this remark at face value, knowing that Ron knew more than he was letting on. She regarded him fondly, knowing how difficult this was for him too. ‘How are you?’ she asked tentatively. ‘I mean; after…Fred and everything…”? 

Ron looked at her sadly for a long moment. ‘I’ll be OK. I’ll deal with Fred later; right now, I’m more concerned about you. Look after the living, right? The dead can look after themselves.’ 

She noticed how his voice cracked as he said this and despite her own feelings of despair she leaned forward and gave him a hug. To her surprise, he didn’t hesitate in reciprocating the gesture and they remained tight in each other’s arms for a long time. Finally, they broke apart and Ron gazed at her intensely, his eyes moist. 

‘Harry’s right,’ he said after a pause. ‘We are here for you; I’m here for you. You won’t have to face this alone,’ he added, his voice thick with emotion. 

She nodded her gratitude at his words. Nodded her gratitude and embraced him again in order to hide the sudden realisation that had struck her. 

Somehow, when Ron said those words of comfort, they did not carry the same weight and sincerity as when Harry had said them. She didn’t know what that meant and realised that she was probably reading too much into things. She felt Ron hold her again and decided just to be grateful for the comfort he was offering her. 


	2. Filling in the Blanks

The next morning, Harry gingerly made his way back to the hospital wing. He had barely slept a wink; instead he had sat awake for most of the night and had tried his best to come to terms with everything that had occurred the pervious day. Obviously, the catastrophic news about Hermione had dominated his thoughts but he had been plagued too with visions of Fred, Remus and Tonks and all the others who had made the ultimate sacrifice in order to defeat Voldemort. He had struggled too with his own death and was well aware that he would still have to face questions from his two closest friends on the matter. So far, he had not told anyone what had occurred in the forest and he had a niggling suspicion that there was a reckoning to face at some point in the not too distant future. 

There was also the fact that he had killed a man. Even though it was Voldemort, he still felt unclean at the thought of taking a life. 

He had decided to remain in the classroom and had lain on the floor and attempted to go to sleep. He’d not felt able to face any more congratulations or interrogations and so had resolved to stay away from the Gryffindor common room – at least for the moment. It had not occurred to him that his absence would be noted, and it was not long before his solitude was interrupted by the opening of the classroom door. 

It had been Professor McGonagall and she hadn’t looked too pleased. 

_‘What are you doing, Potter? What are you doing in here? The whole school is looking for you!’_

_He’d taken a long moment to reply. ‘I’m sorry, professor. I just can’t face all the attention at the minute. I just wanted to be alone for a while. Can you understand that?’_

_Surprisingly, her expression had softened. ‘Yes, Harry. I can understand that. But you can’t stay here.’_

_He’d raised an eyebrow. ‘Why not? This is as good as anywhere else. You know I am OK; you could pass the word.’_

_She’d regarded him severely but had finally given a soft smile. ‘Very well, Harry. I shall inform the others that you are quite well and have made your own arrangements. But I want you to know that my door is open if you want someone to talk to.’_

_He’d smiled his appreciation and watched as she turned and left the room, quietly closing the door behind her._

That had been over eight hours ago and now as he gently opened the door to the hospital wing he realised that he’d not had a proper sleep in some days. He had to do something about that. 

The scene that greeted him on entering the infirmary was in stark contrast to the activity of the previous night. No one stirred, and it was apparent that all of the injured had been treated by Poppy and that she had dished out more than a few sleeping draughts. Every bed contained the slumbering form of someone injured in the battle and it was with extreme care that he silently tip-toed his way towards Hermione’s bed. Slowly, he drew the curtains and was surprised to see that both Ron and Hermione were awake. They were sitting in companionable silence, their fingers intertwined, and Harry felt a sudden rush of affection for them both as he realised that they had resolved some of the issues from the previous day. 

‘Morning,’ he whispered to them both and smiled broadly as they both sprang in to life and released their hold on one another as if being caught doing something illegal. He glanced at Hermione and saw a look of amusement on her face too as she realised the absurdity of the situation and his feeling of affection grew. 

Good morning, Harry,’ she replied softly. Her eyes took him in and she could see that he had not slept properly. He looked terrible; his eyes had black lines under them; his face was drawn and he looked chalk white. Even his hair was more unruly than usual and she had to fight a sudden urge to smooth it with her hand. ‘How are you feeling?’ she finally asked. 

Harry grimaced and shrugged as if his well being was of no consequence and Hermione felt a sudden surge of anger at his attitude. ‘I was hoping you would drop by,’ she continued. ‘I was hoping the three of us would get a chance to discuss what happened yesterday.’ She had tried to keep her tone light and airy but all three were aware of a sudden tension between them. Harry sighed and pulled up a chair before sitting down. 

‘What did you want to discuss?’ he asked, almost as if he hoped it was the weather Hermione wanted to talk about. 

Hermione took her time before answering. ‘What happened yesterday, Harry? I thought you were dead.’ She shuddered for a moment before ploughing on. ‘Why did you go to the forest?’ There was more than a hint of accusation in her voice. 

‘I had to go.’ He looked at both Ron and Hermione as he answered and he felt their scrutiny. He squared his jaw before continuing. ‘You remember I went to use Dumbledore’s penseive to see the memory Snape gave me?’ Both Hermione and Ron nodded at the question but did not reply. 

‘Well,’ continued Harry, ‘I discovered from Snape’s memory that I was a Horcrux.’ 

‘WHAT?’ cried Ron and Hermione in unison. If it were not for the seriousness of the situation, Harry would have burst out laughing. He could not remember a time when his two friends were of one mind. 

‘You were a Horcrux?’ asked Hermione, the incredulity evident in her voice. 

‘I sure was. Voldemort didn’t mean for it to happen but when he tried to kill me when I was a baby and the spell backfired, his soul splintered and a fragment ended up inside me. That’s why my scar used to hurt; that’s why we had the mental link between us.’ He looked grim. ‘That’s why I can speak Parseltongue. He had just murdered my parents so the criteria for making a Horcrux had been met. Anyway; he couldn’t be killed unless the soul fragment inside of me was destroyed.’ 

‘How was it destroyed?’ asked Ron and Harry noticed that Hermione did not look too pleased that he had beaten her to the punch with the question. 

‘I had to let him kill me.’ He noticed both sets of eyes widen at this remark so ploughed on before either of his friends interrupted. ‘You see; we were linked by more than the Horcrux. You remember that Voldemort used my blood to regain his body the night Cedric died?’ 

Both Ron and Hermione nodded. 

‘Well,’ continued Harry, ‘by using my blood, Voldemort also had my mum’s protection in _his_ blood. So there was a double link. He was tethered to Earth by the Horcrux in me and I was tethered by my mother’s blood in him. The only way to break the connection was to let him hit me with the killing curse. That way the link would be broken and Voldemort would be mortal again. It worked too.’ 

He noticed with surprise that Hermione looked relieved at the explanation. He raised an eyebrow enquiringly at her and she seemed to read the question in his mind. 

‘I was ready to have a go at you, Harry. I’m glad I don’t need to now.’ 

‘Have a go at me? Why?’ 

‘Because I thought you had knowingly walked to your death without talking to me first. I didn’t think for a second that you would answer Voldemort’s demand to enter the forest and I was ready to curse you for being so bloody stupid. But you knew all along about the connection, so I suppose that gets you off the hook,’ she added with a smile. 

Harry’s world hung on a precipice for a few moments before he knew that he had to take the right – rather than the easy – path. 

‘I didn’t know about the connection until after,’ he said quietly. 

‘After what?’ asked Hermione. 

‘After I died.’ 

Hermione sat up in her bed, an expression of alarm on her face. ‘What do you mean; “after I died?”’ 

Harry closed his eyes, wondering how best to explain this. ‘When I walked to the forest I didn’t know about the connection. All I knew was that I had to destroy the Horcrux in me and the only way to do that was to die. So I went to Voldemort so he wouldn’t attack the school again – my life was already forfeit so I reckoned some good should come out of it.’ He raised his hand to forestall an interruption from Hermione. ‘Let me finish; please?’ He watched as she sat back with her arms folded and he saw that she had a look on her face that did not bode well for his prospects in the next few minutes. 

‘I went into the forest and I confronted Voldemort. I didn’t lift my wand; I just let him curse me. He hit me with _Avada Kedavra_. Again.’ 

‘So what happened?’ asked Ron. ‘If he…how did…why aren’t you dead then?’ 

‘I’m not dead because of the connection. I think I did actually die, but I was able to return. After I was hit by the curse I found myself in…well; it’s hard to explain. It looked like King’s Cross, but it wasn’t. It was sort of between life and death, if you know what I mean.’ he could tell from their expressions that they didn’t, so he continued. ‘Dumbledore was there.’ 

‘Dumbledore?’ chorused his friends in unison. 

‘Yeah; Dumbledore. He explained everything to me. Told me where I was and why I wasn’t totally dead. He told me that the Horcrux in me had been destroyed and that because of my mother’s blood in Voldemort’s veins, I had a choice.’ 

‘What choice?’ asked Hermione, the severity evident in her voice. 

‘To return to Earth or to go “on,”’ Harry replied. ‘I came back here,’ he added unnecessarily. ‘Voldemort thought I was dead, so I played along until I had the chance to strike. The rest you know.’ 

A stunned silence greeted the end of the tale and Harry looked at his two friends almost with a feeling of defiance. He knew what was coming next and wasn’t disappointed when Hermione finally let rip. 

‘How could you?’ exclaimed Hermione. ‘How dare you! You went to face him expecting to die? You never even came to say goodbye to me! To us!’ 

‘I never had the time. Besides; you would have tried to talk me out of it.’ 

‘OF COURSE I WOULD HAVE TALKED YOU OUT OF IT! For God’s sake, Harry! How could you do this to me?’ Tears were flowing down Hermione’s cheeks as she asked this, but she ignored them. 

‘Do what?’ replied Harry, his own anger rising. 

‘Walk off to die without even talking to me, that’s what! We could have tried something else; we could have tried to extract it ourselves.’ 

‘We never had the time, Hermione! You know this; I had no choice here. None at all! Voldemort would have attacked the castle again. I knew that the only way to destroy the Horcrux in me was to die! So I decided to kill two birds with one stone – destroy the Horcrux and stop Voldemort from attacking the school. I didn’t have a choice.’ 

‘There’s always a choice! Do you have any idea how I felt when I thought you were dead?’ 

‘Probably about the same as I did when I heard you had been bitten by Greyback! Don’t you dare try to hold me responsible for this! I had no choice. I had to destroy the Horcrux and I had to do it quick. This was the only way. Besides; it worked, didn’t it?’ 

‘That’s not the point.’ 

‘It’s entirely the point! If I had known you were going to act like this, then I would have told Dumbledore I wanted to go on! At least if I _had_ died I wouldn’t be facing a bloody inquisition!” 

Hermione turned white at this remark and her eyes widened in shock. Ron stood mute, bewildered by the turn of events had set his two best friends at loggerheads. Finally, Hermione found her voice. 

‘How dare you, Harry Potter. After everything we have been through together. We have fought with you and for you. We have stood by you throughout everything. And you walk off to die without even telling us? We were supposed to be a team, Harry. I thought we would make such decisions together.’ 

‘Are you saying you would have supported my decision? That you would have let me go to face him?’ 

‘I would have jinxed you on the spot and tied you up to stop you from leaving, but that isn’t the point,’ replied Hermione. ‘You didn’t even ask! Do you have any idea how much that hurts?’ 

‘Do you have any idea how much it hurt to have to make that walk?’ asked Harry scathingly. ‘Do you think I wanted to do it? Do you think I wanted to leave you and Ron? I had no choice, Hermione; can’t you understand that?’ 

‘No; I can’t. Is this your “saving people” thing again, Harry? Do you have a need to do everything on your own?’ Her voice was rising as she spoke, her anger fuelled by her fear and her memory of how she felt when she thought him dead. ‘After everything we have been through together, you abandoned us and went to face him on your own. Did we mean so little that you were willing to die without even saying goodbye? We have bled for you, Harry; does that mean nothing to you? Do we mean nothing to you?’ 

She knew as soon as the words had left her mouth that it was the wrong thing to say. She hadn’t meant for it to come out as it had – it had been a combination of her anger and her concern for Harry that had allowed her to blurt out such a remark. She put her left hand to her mouth and reached for him with her right, but she knew the damage had been done. Harry looked chalk white; his eyes like saucers as he reeled from her words as if physically struck. He was staring in horror at the bandage on her outstretched arm and she cursed herself as she realised that he would now be blaming himself for her injury. She reached for him again as he finally reacted and turned to leave. 

‘Harry; I’m sorry!’ she exclaimed, but she was talking only to a white curtain that rippled where Harry Potter had departed. 

oOoOoOoOoOo

Hermione felt terrible. She lay in her bed, alone with her thoughts and allowed the guilt to wash over her. She had been distraught when Harry had left and for about the thousandth time since that moment, she cursed herself for her insensitivity. She still did not know what had possessed her to react the way she had. Intellectually, she knew that Harry was correct; he didn’t have a choice and what he had been willing to sacrifice for them all defied belief. 

_He was willing to die for us._

_He did die for us._

And this is why she had reacted so badly. She cared about him so much that her shock and fear at what might have happened had driven her anger. It was not Harry’s fault, but she had acted as if it was and she now felt ashamed at her behaviour – not least because she knew with certainty that Harry would be blaming himself for her current predicament. She closed her eyes and cursed herself once again. 

She looked up suddenly as the curtain was ripped aside and when she saw the expression on Ron’s face she felt her hopes of a quick reconciliation dashed. She had asked Ron to go after Harry as soon as he had left but that had been nearly an hour ago and she had been left wondering what was going on. She looked at Ron expectantly. 

‘He’s gone,’ said Ron without preamble. 

Hermione felt as if a lead weight had appeared in her stomach. ‘Gone? Gone where?’

Ron shrugged as he sat down. ‘No idea. I didn’t manage to catch up with him. No one saw him at all – he just vanished. He left this,’ Ron added as he handed her an envelope. ‘It was on his bed in the dorm.’ 

Hermione took the proffered parchment and turned it over, noticing her own name on the front. With a feeling of anxiety, she tore it open and began to read. 

_Hermione,_

_I’m sorry. Sorry for everything that has happened. I hate fighting with you and you really don’t need the added stress right now. I could do with some time to myself too – there are a few things I need to deal with and I can’t get a minute to myself at Hogwarts. I need some space and time on my own and I won’t find it here, so I will be gone for a bit._

_I hope you know that you and Ron mean more to me than anyone else in my life. I’m only sorry that I gave you cause to think otherwise._

_Promise me you will look after yourself. I will be back before the 10 th if you still want to see me. _

_Take care_

_Harry_

She closed her eyes at the words and felt the tears well up again. She saw the curious look on Ron’s face and wordlessly handed him the note. As he read it she berated herself for driving Harry away and she really wanted to see him right now to tell him how sorry she was. This was not a time for him to be on his own. After everything he had been through he needed those who cared about him near him. 

She held her face in her hands and felt an overwhelming sense of loss. She took some hope from his pledge to return before the full moon, but she still felt an overwhelming sense of guilt for saying what she had to him. She only hoped that when he did return, they would be able to patch things up between them. She glanced up as she felt Ron’s hand on her shoulder and she forced a tremulous smile. 

‘Don’t worry about him,’ whispered Ron. ‘He’ll be fine; he won’t leave us.’ 

She nodded at the words and allowed herself to be comforted. She only hoped Ron knew what he was talking about. 


	3. Introspection

Harry Potter placed a marker between the pages of the book he was reading and leaned back into his armchair, rubbing his eyes with both hands as he did so. He glanced at his watch, realising that he did not have much time left before he had to depart. He lifted his legs and placed his feet on the coffee table in front of him, careful not to upend the pile of books that was stacked high near the table’s edge, or the dirty plate that still contained the remnants of last night’s dinner. Since leaving Hogwarts, he had spent the past three days pouring over books and journals in an attempt to gain a better understanding of lycanthropy and all the implications of being a werewolf. Research was not normally his forte but in this instance, he’d been grateful for the distraction. 

After his argument with Hermione he had just felt the need to get away from everyone – to get some time on his own in order to process everything that had happened. He knew that Hermione had not meant to wound him and he could even understand why she was upset with him, but he could not face her indignation right now and had needed to get away. She had enough to be dealing with at the moment and his presence was evidently distracting her from the real issue; namely her coming to terms with being cursed as a werewolf.

The other thing he needed to deal with was what to do with his life. Since the moment of his birth he had been marked with a destiny and his whole life had been geared towards fulfilling that destiny. Now that he had defeated Voldemort he had to deal with something even more daunting than the Dark Lord. 

_What the hell do I do now?_

He also felt a pang of regret that he had decided to leave without first speaking to Ginny. He knew that their relationship had been put on hold until Voldemort was defeated and now that he had accomplished that task, he was well aware that she deserved more than he had given her up to now. At the very least, she deserved an explanation for his behaviour. He suspected that her patience should not – could not – be taken for granted.

So it was with a myriad of conflicting emotions that he had stormed out of the hospital wing and had decided to leave. He had made straight for the Hogwarts kitchen and had found Kreacher, ordering the little elf to Apparate him straight to Grimmauld Place. He had then hastily written a note to Hermione and one to Professor McGonagall and had asked Kreacher to leave the letters where they would be discovered. He had then instructed him to tell absolutely no one where he was and to place protections on the house that prevented anyone but himself from entering. He had further instructed his House Elf to tell him when the funerals for those who had died in the battle for Hogwarts were due to take place. While he did not want to appear in public at the moment he knew that there were a number of ceremonies he wanted to attend – he was not so selfish that he would disrespect the dead.

He also knew that Kreacher had the intelligence to inform him if anything really serious was happening back at the school and so he had settled down to a period of isolation. It was what he needed.

It was only after the little elf had disappeared to carry out his instructions that he had considered his reasons for coming back to Grimmauld Place. It was not a house that contained happy memories for him and it was only when he explored his motives for coming here that he realised that it was an inspired choice. The Blacks had an extensive library in the house – an extensive _dark_ library. He had immediately set about locating every book he could on werewolves, lycanthropy and lunar astrology. Hermione would undergo her change soon and he wanted to – needed to – know everything there was to learn about the condition by then. He was aware that she would be doing the same back at Hogwarts but he wanted to satisfy his own curiosity. This was one time when he wanted to do the research for himself. 

He picked up his pile of notes and boxed the sprawl of paper into a tidy pile, almost as if he was preparing to shuffle a deck of cards. He had made copious notes and it occurred to him with a dark amusement that he had not studied so intensively for any of his subjects at school. He belatedly realised that Hermione had been right all this time; hard work and study did pay off because he now reckoned to know as much about lycanthropy as anyone – save werewolves themselves. That was the only thing he lacked; what it was actually like to be a werewolf. He knew he was a practical person – a doer rather than a thinker – and that he could at times rely more on his emotions and instinct than was good for him. But all his life he had needed to understand people - to discover what people _felt_ rather than what they thought and - for all the usefulness of the tomes in front of him - none of them gave a first hand account of what it was like to actually _be_ a werewolf. 

He sighed sadly, suddenly thinking of Remus and how much he was going to miss him. He had loved Remus – had considered him a dear friend – but he was only now realising just how little about the man he actually knew. He was in complete ignorance of what life was like for Remus; what he had to deal with every day; what it felt like to be cursed. Was he normal for most of the month and only lost control at the full moon? Or did he fight the call of the wolf, his life a continual struggle to maintain control. The books speculated on this – some of them even contained interviews with werewolves – but none of them managed to convey what it actually _meant_ to be a werewolf. 

He knew that he would have mourned the loss of Remus regardless, but he felt particularly bitter right now because he was aware that his friend’s calm authority; his intelligence, insight and – above all – his humanity, would have been invaluable to Hermione in her struggle to come to terms with what had occurred. Not for the first time in his life, he cursed the fates that seemed to harm everyone he cared for. It was the funeral of Remus and Tonks that he was preparing to attend today and – with another glance at his watch – he realised that he would need to leave in a few minutes. 

He turned his attention back to his notes and started to re-read them, particularly scrutinising those paragraphs he had underlined, deeming the information contained within to be of importance. He had been particularly surprised to learn of the difference being bitten by a fully transformed werewolf and one still in human form. He’d been vaguely aware that there was a difference because of the limited symptoms displayed by Bill, but he’d had no idea just how profound those differences were. While Bill carried the curse, he remained in control of himself at all times – even during the full moon. Bill did have some wolverine qualities – according to the books he would now have a heightened sense of smell and sight; and he would possess an instinct – almost a “sixth sense” - that warned him of danger. But apart from that, Bill was completely normal. Remus on the other hand, would have experienced something very different. According to the books, at the full moon the wolf took over completely. All reason and cognitive thought went out of the window as the beast took control. Harry remembered his own fear and horror when he had witnessed Remus lose control back in 3rd year. Had it not been for Sirius’ intervention that night, Remus would have torn everyone to shreds – people he loved and cared about would have been savaged by his own hand. Even when it wasn’t full moon, Remus would still have felt the call of the wild; a latent, primitive urge to let loose the beast within. When the full moon drew near, he would have found himself under more stress; the challenge of remaining in control getting harder as the due date approached.

And they still didn’t know what nature of the beast Hermione would have to face. They would not know until the 10th and he knew that so much depended on whether or not Greyback had been transformed when he had bitten Hermione.

With a deep sigh he placed his notes on the coffee table and stood, collecting his cloak as he did so. It was time to leave; time to face the public and – more importantly – time to see his two friends again. He was nervous; he hoped that things would be sorted between them and he did not want to face another inquisition today. He knew that he would have to resolve his issues with Hermione sooner or later but for the moment he earnestly hoped that it would be “later.”

Casting one last glance around the room to make sure he had left nothing behind, he closed his eyes and concentrated before disappearing with a soft pop to his intended destination.

oOoOoOoOo

Ron Weasley cursed in frustration as he fumbled with the knot on his tie in a futile attempt to straighten it out and thus make himself presentable. Today was the second funeral he would be attending after the interment of Colin Creevey yesterday and he wondered if this was some kind of punishment that the fates had decided to inflict on the living. The survivors had to bury the dead and he was sure that everyone present yesterday felt the same conflicting emotions of grief and relief that he had experienced. He did not intend to attend every funeral but he knew that there was some that he needed to go to. Colin had been the first victim to be buried and so he had felt a sense of obligation to attend. Today it was the funeral of friends – Remus and Tonks – and he would never miss that. He felt his eyes smart suddenly as he realised that the next funeral he would go to would be that of his own brother.

_Oh, Fred._

He thought back to the events of the previous day and remembered the scenes of consternation when it became apparent that Harry was not going to be in attendance. There had almost been a sense of indignation among some of the mourners that the “chosen one” had elected to stay away and Ron had felt many eyes on himself and Hermione as they stood by the cold grave. He didn’t think he should have been in such a prominent place. While Colin had been a housemate and friend, they had never been close and he had felt something of a fraud as he and Hermione had been jostled into a position of prominence alongside the chief mourners. He knew that the two of them had been viewed almost as proxies for the absent Harry and he was now – finally – beginning to appreciate what his dear friend had to put up with. He and Hermione had been treated with reverence – almost awe – for their part in the defeat of Voldemort. For Harry, things were going to be much, much worse. When he thought back to all of the times he had resented Harry for his fame he felt ashamed. It was only now that he had an inkling about the price of that fame and what it actually meant. He had experienced a mere taste of it at Colin’s funeral; Harry had been dealing with it his entire life and now that he had defeated Voldemort, the clamour to get a piece of Harry Potter would be greater than ever. Even at the graveside, people had asked where Harry was. He and Hermione had been able to reply truthfully that they had no idea.

He smiled ruefully as he recalled Hermione’s attempts to track Harry down. She had been extremely anxious about him and had even resorted to calling Kreacher in order to get as much information as possible. She had reasoned with him; had coaxed and cajoled and had finally even tried to order the wizened little elf into revealing Harry’s whereabouts but Kreacher had stood firm. He had patiently explained that his master was quite safe and had ordered him to tell no one where he was. Ron’s wry smile widened at the memory. Hermione had been close to tears, such was her exasperation. She had reckoned that Harry was holing out at Grimmauld Place but every attempt she had made to gain entry to the house had been thwarted. He had tried to soothe her fears; had suggested that Harry would return when he was ready and that he probably needed some time alone. Now; as he remembered the staring eyes at the funeral, he was aware that Harry had made a sensible choice.

He had even sensed a feeling of indignation from the crowd at Harry’s absence but that mood had disappeared after the ceremony when Hermione had overheard some disparaging remarks about their mutual friend. She had rounded on the astonished individual who had said that Harry’s absence was a “disgrace” and had torn strips off the unfortunate person until he had gently pulled her away. He’d been astonished at her outburst but had quickly realised that this out of character display was entirely down to the stress she was under at the moment. She was dealing with her bite and she was also dealing with the fallout of her fight with Harry. He wouldn’t have wagered a single Knut on what was causing her the most anxiety though.

He’d been surprised at his own sense of decorum too. He had been equally offended at the overheard remark but he had managed to restrain himself and had delicately manoeuvred Hermione away. As he had done so he had caught an approving look from Professor McGonagall and he had suddenly realised that he was doing as he had promised. He was doing what he should always have been doing; he was looking out for Hermione and he was pleased that he had managed to keep his word to Harry; that he would be there for her when she needed him.

_And she does need me right now._

He’d decided that he would do everything he could to help. Hermione meant so much to him – had done so much for him - that it was only right that he do everything in his power to alleviate her distress. So it was for this reason that he had found himself sitting up in bed late at night surreptitiously reading everything he could on Lycanthropy in order to gain a better understanding of the condition. He had found it hard at first – he emphatically was not a reader – but he had gleaned some useful information that he hoped would make him better prepared for what lay ahead. He had paid particular attention to the astronomy involved in the whole process and for about the thousandth time, he had cursed himself for not paying more attention in class.

He had been confused at first. He had struggled with the terminology and it was some time before he knew the difference between waxing gibbous (51-99% of the moon visible on the _right_ side) and waning gibbous (51-99% of the moon visible on the _left_ side); that a synodic month was a lunar phase and lasted just over twenty nine and a half days; that fourteen synodic months can be referred to as a full moon cycle; that a “blue moon” was the third full moon of a four full moon season and that there is no settled rule as to exactly how long a full moon lasts.

It had been _a lot_ to take in and that was just for starters. But at least he now knew what Bill had meant when talking about the moon being full between 95% waxing gibbous and 95% waning gibbous. The short, non-technical version, was that Hermione would have to deal with the full moon over nearly three days instead of just one.

He closed his eyes as he considered what his friend – his girlfriend – was dealing with. He knew that it was all going to come down to what form Greyback had been in when he bit her. Hermione’s life would be dictated by that simple fact and his impatience at waiting for the full moon to begin was beginning to drive him to distraction. He just wanted to know; to find out exactly what they were dealing with. The uncertainty was testing the patience of everyone in the know and he knew that it was infinitely worse for Hermione who – for one of the few instances in her life – was entirely powerless to do anything except wait.

But he had resolved something to himself; whatever the outcome, whatever the consequences of the full moon, he fully intended to stand by his girlfriend and give her the support she deserved.

_It is the very least I can do._

With a final nod of confirmation at his reflection in the mirror, Ron turned and – gathering his cloak on the way – left the room and headed down the stairs.

oOoOoOoOo

Hermione Granger sat waiting for Ron Weasley in one of the comfortable armchairs in front of the common room fire deep in thought. She gazed into the grate in front of her even though no flames burned as it was a fine and warm spring morning. Thankfully, no one seemed inclined to disturb her musings and she was grateful for the solitude as she mulled over the events of the past few days.

She had been experiencing a permanent feeling of nervousness ever since the discovery that she had suffered a bite from a werewolf. This nervousness was only matched by the frustration and impatience she felt at the helplessness of her situation. For once she was facing a problem that could not be solved by books.

Not that she hadn’t tried. She had spent many hours in the library reading up on Lycanthropy in an attempt to glean new information on the condition. It had not been a particularly productive exercise and she knew – without conceit – that this was due entirely to the fact that she already knew most of what had been written on the subject. When they had covered werewolves in DADA; had discussed Wolfesbane in Potions and had examined the moon in Astronomy she had paid attention as she always did. As a result, there was not much more she could learn. What was lacking – what she needed to know – was what it actually _felt like_ to be a werewolf.

She sank deeper into the armchair and sighed. The waiting was killing her. It would be another few days before she discovered the extent of her curse; would she be like Bill or would she be facing the same issues that Remus had struggled against all his life? She was genuinely fearful of what awaited her. She prided herself on her intellect and reason – on her self control. She knew that over the years there had been many instances where these qualities had been of significant help to Harry in his struggle against Voldemort and she was proud of this. But now she faced the prospect of losing this reason; of becoming a primitive creature and being controlled by a beast for three days a month. She closed her eyes as she felt the bile rise in her throat. This was what she feared more than anything; the loss of control that would become part of her life if fully cursed. She was aware that werewolves often bit themselves if no victim was available and this lack of rationality terrified her. It was why she had not been acting herself; why she had lost her temper yesterday at Colin’s funeral at a stupid overheard remark. That the remark had been about Harry hadn’t helped matters either; she knew that part of her frustration was down to what had passed between them a few days ago.

She was still annoyed at herself for causing an argument with Harry and for ultimately driving him away. She knew she had been selfish; that her anger at him was borne from a sense of fear at what might have happened to him. Her memory of how she felt when she had seen him lying dead in the arms of Hagrid still tormented her and it was this more than anything that had driven her anger. She still thought that he should have come to see her before going off to face Voldemort but she also knew that it was not the first time Harry had acted unilaterally and it probably would not be the last time either. She missed him though and was worried about him. Despite Ron’s views on the matter, she was sure that Harry needed company right now – or more specifically; needed her company. She had a good idea where he was hiding out but her attempts to enter Grimmauld place had been thwarted. She had even subjected Kreacher to repeated questioning but the little elf had refused all requests for information and had merely assured her that Harry was safe and well. Kreacher had spoken with confidence and so she had finally accepted that Harry was fine; that his elf would take good care of him and would not let anything bad happen to him. But the frustration she felt at the calm refusal of Kreacher to assist her was almost enough to make her want to abandon SPEW.

So she had tried to lose herself in research but it had largely proven to be a futile exercise. The books had not been able to help much and she was ruefully aware that this was down to her already extensive knowledge of the subject. She still could not get a handle on what it felt like to lose all control and while there had been testimonies from werewolves in some of the books, all had struggled to articulate what it was actually like to go through such a change. Right now she did not feel any different but she was well aware that this could change within a matter of days. Soon she too might know what it was to lose control.

The only useful information she had gleaned was from a legal/political aspect. Magical politics was still something of a closed book to her as the system of government was completely alien to what she understood of the Muggle system. She had been struck mainly by the inconsistencies that typified werewolf legislation and she was astonished that there was not one office that dealt with the issue. She was already aware of the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct, but she had not realised that werewolves had been shunted between the Beast and Being divisions of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures for years. At one point, the Werewolf Registry and Werewolf Capture Unit were both in the Beast Division, while at the same time the office for Werewolf Support Services was in the Being Division. It was no wonder that the status of werewolves was ambiguous when even the Ministry itself could not decide what department should deal with them. She had also discovered just how deep-rooted the prejudices were against werewolves. It was virtually impossible for one to get a job and none were trusted by the general population. While she had thought she had known Remus Lupin, she was now realising just how little she knew of what he’d had to put up with throughout his short life. Having to resign his post at Hogwarts was not the exception; it was the rule for werewolves in a society that refused to tolerate them. This knowledge frightened her; she had always believed that once Voldemort was defeated she would be free to choose her path. It seemed that she might not be so lucky. If she was fully cursed then her life in the magical world would be very different from anything she had envisaged.

She glanced up as she saw Ron emerge from the dormitory passage and despite her current mood, she smiled. He really had been trying his best over the past few days and she was more grateful than she could say for his efforts. He had respected her decision to keep her bite a secret until they knew the extent of her condition and he had alleviated her concerns about Harry by reassuring her that he needed the space. He had helped her by mainly being Ron. By being there for her and by acting his usual irreverent self and by making her laugh. They had shared a few soft kisses too and she was proud of him that her condition had not seemed to affect the way he evidently felt about her. Their relationship was on the first tentative steps but everything seemed to be going well – if one ignored an estranged friend and a werewolf bite, she thought in grim amusement.

Ron noticed the smile and raised an eyebrow questioningly but she was not inclined to tell him of the black humour she was currently enjoying.

‘I’m just thinking that we will get to see Harry today,’ she replied to his unspoken question. ‘There is no way he would miss saying goodbye to Remus. I’m hoping to get a chance to apologise to him properly.’

Ron smiled at the reply and it struck her that it was a sign of his growing maturity that he did not take umbrage at her thinking of Harry. Perhaps his achievements in helping to defeat Voldemort had finally given him the self-confidence that he had always lacked? Whatever the reason; she liked this self-assured, more thoughtful Ron. She held out her arm.

‘Ready to go?’

Ron’s smile broadened. ‘I sure am. Let’s go and see a friend,’ he added softly before linking her arm in his own and leading them from the room.


	4. Surviving

Hermione trod carefully as she allowed Ron to lead her by the hand through the throng that surrounded the freshly dug graves that served as a reminder to all the survivors just how fine the line was between life and death. It was a beautiful late spring morning and as her eyes took in the wooded surroundings she became aware of the constant trill of birdsong that chorused from the larks and sparrows that perched in the treetops. The song sounded joyful; an almost blasphemous choir on this most solemn of days. She nodded a few terse acknowledgements to those that greeted her with a smile or a wave. To the Weasleys and to Minerva; to Kingsley and to Hagrid and to a few of the others who had come to pay their last respects to Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks. She hesitantly cast her eyes towards an isolated figure standing with a tiny baby in her arms. Andromeda Tonks and Teddy Lupin; one who had lost both a husband and a daughter; the other now an orphan - too young to appreciate his predicament. She felt the first tears smart at her eyes as she considered the plight of Teddy and her thoughts turned to another orphan; one who was her dearest friend and one who was not in attendance this fine morning.

She finally reached the graveside and raised a questioning eyebrow towards Minerva. The headmistress seemed to understand her unspoken question for she merely shrugged and gestured with her head towards a Ministry official who was waiting to start proceedings. The man looked nervous; it seemed like he had been waiting for her and Ron to arrive before starting.

_And Harry too, of course._

She couldn’t believe that he wasn’t here; that he would elect to absent himself from the burial of a dear friend – _friends_. She felt a growing sense of annoyance as the official shuffled his feet, unsure as to whether or not to begin without the “guest of honour.” To calm herself, she allowed her eyes to pass over the crowd and take in the numerous people present. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Ginny watching her carefully, her face an inscrutable mask and she felt a surge of sympathy for her red-haired friend. The past few days had not been easy for anyone, but Ginny had felt abandoned when Harry had left so abruptly. She knew that unresolved issues lay between the two of them and she hoped that Harry finally had the sense to do something about it – to finally start living. She gave her friend a small nod and was pleased to see Ginny offer a small smile in return.

She turned her attention away from the Weasleys and nearly cried out as she spotted the last three people she expected to see here today.

_The Malfoys._

They were somehow standing alone in a vast crowd; shunned as if contaminated in some way. They stood straight of back and expressionless and she remembered that Tonks had been the niece of Narcissa.

_So that’s why they are here._

No one knew what to do with them. Their past sins were well known but she had heard that Kingsley was unsure about how to deal with them because he had somehow heard that Narcissa had assisted Harry. She didn’t even know the details of that one and knew that a lot of people were waiting for Harry to tell his tale – rumour was rife and the speculation in the _Prophet_ was getting ridiculous – no version of events seemed too outlandish for Rita Skeeter. It was yet another reason that Harry should not have left, in her opinion.

She turned as the Ministry official finally cleared his throat in preparation to begin and felt a sudden surge of anger at Harry for not attending the funeral of such dear friends. This feeling was soon halted however; halted by a sudden commotion among the onlookers. She turned to the source of the murmuring and watched in astonishment as the throng began separate, creating a passage almost like Moses parting the Red Sea.

_Harry._

It could be for no other reason and her suspicions were proved correct when the crowd parted enough to reveal a very sheepish looking Harry Potter as he hesitantly made his way to the graveside. He was being thrust forward by a few hands from the crowd, his reluctance to take centre stage obvious.

_At least; it is obvious to me_.

The crowd at this particular point were made up of Aurors – friends and colleagues of Tonks – and as they parted they formed what looked like a guard of honour as Harry self-consciously made his way through the throng. He approached with his head down, doing his best to ignore the stares and she shook her head in exasperation as she realised that he had been trying to hang back unnoticed. He should have known that this was impossible under the circumstances. The reaction of the onlookers was predictable yet still strangely astonishing. The murmuring had stopped and now the crowd were regarding Harry in reverential silence – even awe. As he neared, he finally looked up and their eyes met and she would never forget the expression on his face. He looked composed but his eyes were almost pleading for release. She knew he had never been comfortable with his fame but she was also acutely aware that what he had experienced up to now was nothing compared to the maelstrom that was heading his way after his triumph over Voldemort.

To her surprise, she found that she was nervous as he approached. Their last words had been spoken in anger and she still wasn’t sure if they were back on normal terms. Her fears were allayed however as Harry finally arrived next to her and – without saying a word – he took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. He nodded briefly to Ron then turned and faced the Ministry Official, almost as if giving his consent to begin. He did not let go of her hand.

She would never admit to anyone that she could not remember a word that was said by the official that day. She tried to listen, but her thoughts were concentrated solely on her friend standing next to her, holding her hand. On more than one occasion, she surreptitiously glanced at him and noticed that he did not cry. Instead, she saw that he frequently cast furtive glances in the direction of Teddy Lupin.

_His Godson._

It was this thought crashing into her mind that finally proved to be the catalyst that allowed her own grief to flow. She thought of Teddy, now an orphan and as much a victim of Voldemort as anyone and this realisation led her to think of all the victims; all of the shattered lives and sudden, violent deaths. Inevitably, her thoughts turned to her parents, living in Australia and oblivious of her existence. She realised how much she needed them and so her tears finally flowed unchecked as she let out all the grief and fear she was enduring. Her vision was blurred as the official finally finished and the mortal remains of Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks were laid to rest. She was aware that Ron had drawn her into a tight, comforting embrace and that Harry had released his hold on her hand to allow Ron to do so. For once, she allowed herself the release of tears and sank into the embrace of her boyfriend. Not a soul stirred; not a sound could be heard as the onlookers contemplated the final resting place of two cherished friends.

The silence stretched for what seemed like an eternity before it was finally broken by Harry who slowly approached the graves and picked up a handful of dirt. He cut a solitary figure as he looked down on the coffin of Remus Lupin and - without saying a word - he gently sprinkled some of the dirt over the remains of his friend before repeating the gesture over the grave of Tonks. He stood in silence for a few moments longer before shaking his head as if awakening from a dream and heading straight towards Andromeda Tonks. The crowd suddenly let out a deep sigh, almost as if it had been holding its breath and Hermione was shaken from her thoughts back into the moment. She wrestled free of Ron’s embrace and grabbed his hand before dragging him along with her as she made for Harry and Andromeda. It briefly occurred to her that she had no right to intrude on a private conversation but she was also aware of a need to be close to Harry – almost an instinct to keep him safe. She felt the eyes on the crowd on her as she reached Andromeda just as Harry did. He turned in surprise but did not demur at her presence. Instead, he turned back to Andromeda and regarded her gravely. She turned her attention to Teddy’s Grandmother as well and was struck by the dignity Andromeda was displaying.

_But then; she is a Black, isn’t she? She married a Muggle and she rejected the Dark, but she’s still a Black._

Andromeda stood tall as she cradled her grandson in her arms. Her features were grief stricken but no tears flowed from her eyes and she regarded Harry with a questioning look. Finally, Harry cleared his throat awkwardly.

‘May I offer you my condolences, Mrs Tonks?’ he said quietly.

‘Thank you, Mr Potter. _Harry_ ,’ Andromeda replied, emphasising his forename. ‘Please; call me Andromeda. “Mrs Tonks” makes me feel old and I need to be young,’ she added, gesturing with her head to the child in her arms. An awkward silence ensued as Harry decided what to do next and Andromeda must have sensed his discomfort as she took the initiative and smiled gently.

‘My daughter and Remus told me of their decision to make you Teddy’s Godfather, Harry. I take it this is why you wish to speak to me?’

Harry nodded. ‘It is,’ he replied, his voice thick. ‘I…I just wanted you to know that I am here if you or Teddy need anything – anything at all. I…I would like to be a part of Teddy’s life. I want you to know that even though I am only seventeen, I take my oaths seriously. When Remus asked me I knew that being Godfather to Teddy might one day prove more than a mere ceremonial role.’ He hesitated and looked at his feet. ‘I know what it is like to be an orphan. He is lucky to have you, Andromeda. But I am asking your permission to allow me to be a part of his life too.’ He looked Andromeda in the eye before continuing. ‘I don’t think it is possible to have too much love in your life. Dumbledore taught me that. Remus did too, in his own way. Will you allow me to help? To love Teddy?’

Hermione felt the tears begin to fall again at hearing Harry’s appeal and she noticed that – for the first time that day – tears began to roll down the cheeks of Andromeda Tonks too. But Andromeda was smiling as she cried.

‘Oh, Harry. As if you even need to ask. You were chosen for a reason, Harry. Both Nymphadora and Remus wanted you to be Teddy’s Godfather because they both loved and respected you. Do you think I would gainsay their choice? After everything you have done? I would be honoured if you agree to be a part of Teddy’s life. I can offer him much but he will need a man in his life, Harry. A role model; a father figure. I cannot think of anyone more worthy. Thank you.’

Harry nodded at her words and Hermione saw the relief in his eyes and the sadness too. He stood awkwardly for a moment, gazing at Andromeda before he turned his attention to Teddy.

‘Can I…may I…hold him?’ he asked and to Hermione, he sounded like the small child that she had first met seven years ago. The boy who believed he needed permission to receive anything. She felt her tears increase as Andromeda’s smile widened.

‘Of course you can, Harry,’ she replied before gently passing Teddy towards him. She took a few moments to show him the correct way to hold a baby and at first it was obvious that Harry was holding the child almost as if he was made of the most fragile glass.

‘He won’t break, Harry. He’s quite a robust little fellow,’ said Andromeda. ‘Just relax and Teddy will relax too.’

Harry flashed Andromeda a smile before turning his attention to the baby cradled in his arms. Hermione could see that Teddy was looking up at the strange face with the wide eyes that all babies had. Harry just stared back and didn’t move until his finger was wrapped in the tiny hand of the infant. She felt a flowering in her heart at the sight and took comfort with the sudden knowledge that life would go on. Teddy represented the future, the promise of better times and of a generation who would grow up without the shadow of Voldemort. One day this child would learn that his Godfather did more than anyone else to remove this shadow; would learn that his parents had died fighting that same evil, but for now he seemed content to stare wide eyed at the strange face and tug contentedly on Harry’s index finger. She watched as Harry gently lowered his head and planted a soft kiss on Teddy’s forehead. For some reason she imagined him doing the same with his own child and for a brief moment, she found herself standing next to Harry, embracing him and “their” son. She flushed, wondering where such an image had come from. She shook herself free of the thought as Harry spoke again.

‘Thank you,’ he whispered as he passed the child back to his grandmother. ‘Just let me know if you ever need anything.’

Andromeda smiled again and made to reply but her attention was diverted by the approach of Kingsley and Minerva.

‘Minister,’ Andromeda said tersely, unhappy at the interruption.

‘Forgive me, Andromeda,’ began Kingsley in his rich voice. ‘I do not wish to intrude. Can I speak first as a friend rather than as Minister? Can I offer you my condolences? Tonk…Nymphadora was a dear friend and colleague to me. Ted was a fine man too. I am so sorry for your loss.’

Andromeda’s expression softened. ‘Thank you, Kingsley. I appreciate that. I know that Dora thought very highly of you.’ Her expression turned quizzical for a moment, her eyes shrewd. ‘Is there something else? Is there something you need to discuss as Minister rather than as a friend?’

Kingsley looked uncomfortable for a moment. ‘Perhaps now is not the time,’ he began. ‘It is just that I have some information regarding the estate of Remus. I wanted to arrange a more convenient time to discuss this with you.’ He turned to Harry. ‘You too,’ he added. 

‘Me?’ asked Harry, mystified.

Kingsley nodded. ‘Remus approached me some time ago with instructions about what to do in the event of his death. He appointed me executor of his estate – his and Tonk…I mean Dora’s,’ he added hastily as he noticed the beady look Andromeda was giving him.

Harry took a moment to digest this news. ‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ he finally said, ‘but I didn’t think Remus had much to leave to anyone.’

Kingsley nodded soberly. ‘He didn’t have much, Harry. He struggled all his life because of his…condition. But he did have a few items that he has left to Teddy. I will not go into details here but he has appointed both you and Andromeda as Trustees until Teddy comes of age – if you are willing, that is.’ 

‘Of course I am willing,’ said Harry. 

‘Good.’ He hesitated for a few moments. ‘I would also like the chance to discuss what happened…’ he could not finish.

Harry sighed. ‘What happened the night I killed Voldemort?’ he asked with resignation. Kingsley looked extremely uncomfortable.

‘I’m sorry, Harry. This is a bad time. But we must talk – there is a lot of rumour and gossip and it is not helping us to begin the rebuilding process. I need to know what happened in order to proceed. The Malfoys, for example…’ he shook his head in despair. ‘I hate to ask this of you, Harry. I hope you know that I am a friend to you. But I am Minister too and I have new responsibilities.’

Harry felt his resentment dissipate as he regarded Kingsley. He could see the sadness in the elder man’s eyes and he suspected that this sadness was because his friend had finally realised that his life would never be the same again. He was not Kingsley anymore; he was _Minister_ and Harry reckoned that he would not have wanted the position or the attention that it brought. No; Kingsley would only have agreed to the appointment because he knew no one else – at least no one worthy – was available.

_Good men got the heaviest burdens._

‘It’s OK, Kingsley,’ he finally replied. ‘I understand. Perhaps better than you realise. I don’t know when it will be convenient though. We can hardly do it here,’ he added, smiling as he did so to take the sting out of his words.

Kingsley smiled too and looked around as the crowd slowly departed from the graveside, the vast majority casting furtive glances towards the little group standing around Andromeda and Teddy. He hesitated for a moment and cast a glance towards Ron before continuing.

‘I know Molly and Arthur have invited people to the Burrow after Fred’s funeral tomorrow,’ he began quietly. ‘Might it be possible to discuss the matter there? I know that I am not the only one who wishes to hear the story but it is of course up to you who you decide to inform.’ He turned to Andromeda. ‘We can go over Remus’ request at a more convenient time, if that is OK?’

‘That is acceptable, Kingsley. Just inform me when you are free,’ replied Andromeda. All eyes turned back to Harry he was obviously deep in thought.

‘Tomorrow at the Burrow is fine with me. That is…’ he turned to Ron a questioning look on his face.

Ron regarded him gravely. ‘I know I want all the details, Harry. And mum and dad will definitely want to hear everything.’ He looked at his feet. ‘Perhaps tomorrow is appropriate. Then they will know that Fred didn’t die in vain.’ He looked up again. ‘I think it would be a fitting memorial for him,’ he added, his voice beginning to crack.

The two friends shared a look that was only interrupted when Hermione put her arms around Ron and embraced him tightly. Everyone else present took a moment to regain their composure.

Kingsley looked at Ron gravely. ‘Thank you, Ron. That is a noble sentiment. I shall speak to your parents.’ He turned to the others. ‘I will not take up any more of your time for the present. My apologies for bringing the matter up here. Good day to you all,’ he added with a curt nod before departing. All eyes followed him briefly before turning to Minerva who had stood patiently waiting her turn.

‘Andromeda? Allow me to offer you my condolences. They will both be sadly missed. Ted too,’ the headmistress added sadly. 

‘Thank you, Minerva,’ replied Andromeda. ‘Thank you for coming.’ 

Minerva dismissed this with a wave of her hand before continuing. ‘Do you mind if I borrow these three for a few moments?’ she asked, gesturing at Harry, Hermione and Ron. 

‘Not at all. I have a number of people to speak to. Please; carry on.’ 

They took their leave of Andromeda and followed Minerva to a quiet spot under a nearby sycamore tree. Minerva glanced around before speaking. 

‘I have made arrangements for Sunday,’ she began without preamble. ‘I have created a secure room in the castle dungeons that should prove sufficient,’ she added, regarding Hermione with a sympathetic look. 

Hermione suddenly felt sick at the news; as if somehow the preparation made everything seem more real. Minerva seemed to sense her distress. 

‘There is a still a chance that it will not prove necessary, but we must take precautions.’ 

Hermione nodded. ‘I know, and thank you.’ She looked at her feet. 

Harry noticed her distress and felt pained himself. ‘Is it totally necessary?’ he asked. ‘Can we not give her some Wolfesbane potion?’ 

‘Not for her first change, Harry,’ replied Minerva. ‘We must establish the full extent of the curse and so we must let it run its course. Hopefully, there will be no need for the potion on future nights.’ Her face took on a curious look for a moment. ‘Besides; only Severus was skilled enough to make the potion to adequate levels.’ The question in her voice as she said the name of her former colleague was obvious. ‘We might have some in his old storeroom but the potion does not age well. I fear it will not be as effective as it should be. We must brew some more.’ She sighed. ‘I am sorry to bring this up here but I thought you would rather know and I wasn’t sure if I would get a chance to talk in private later. I hope you understand.’ 

Hermione nodded. ‘We do understand. And thank you.’ She glanced at Harry and narrowed her eyes at him trying to convey a message. Thankfully, he seemed to understand.

‘Professor?’ Harry began. ‘There are some things you need to know about…Severus. About everything,’ he added. ‘I will be going over it all with Kingsley tomorrow at the Burrow. I think you ought to be there too. There are things you need to know.’

Minerva looked on him for a long moment, her surprise at Harry’s use of Snape’s given name obvious. ‘I am grateful, Harry,’ she finally replied. ‘I must admit that I am deeply curious as to what you meant when you told Voldemort that Severus was Dumbledore’s man all along. If this is true then he did a very good job of hiding the fact. I would like to know if I have misjudged him.’

‘You did misjudge him. We all did. He was on our side all along. You deserve to know the truth, Professor. Severus deserves the truth to be recognised.’

Minerva regarded him again before speaking. ‘In that case, I will see you all tomorrow.’ She smiled. ‘Good day to you all,’ she added before striding off. 

The three friends turned to each other, all lost in thought. Hermione could sense a new awkwardness between them and suddenly realised that there were still a few things to be straightened out. She noticed that Harry was looking at his feet and that Ron was looking at the tree branches overhead as if he had suddenly developed an interest in ornithology. She took a deep breath.

‘Harry?’ she began. ‘I’m sorr:-‘ 

‘Don’t,’ interrupted Harry, without looking up. ‘Don’t tell me you are sorry. You don’t need to; you have nothing to be sorry for.’ 

‘But I said terrible things to you.’ 

He finally met her eye. ‘You spoke the truth, Hermione. You always speak the truth. I understand why you were angry with me. Had the roles been revered then I would be angry with you too. I did not leave because of our argument. I just needed to be on my own for a bit – I needed to sort a few things out with myself. For what it’s worth, I’m feeling much better.’ He paused as he considered his next words. ‘But I hope you understand why I went off to face him alone. It wasn’t because I didn’t need you. Or Ron. You know that, don’t you?’ His question was almost a plea.

‘I know that, Harry,’ she replied. A long silence ensued as each contemplated what had been exchanged; a silence finally broken by Ron. 

‘You two are forgetting that I’m not as sharp as you,’ he said with a smile. ‘I have no idea why you went to face him on your own. If it were me in your shoes then I would have caught the first boat to Bolivia and to hell with Voldemort and everything.’ His expression turned serious. ‘I don’t have a problem with what you did, Harry, but I am curious. Why didn’t you come and see us first? Even to say goodbye?’ 

Hermione thought she knew the answer to that and waited for Harry to confirm her suspicions. He took his time before replying. 

‘Two reasons,’ her friend finally said. 

‘Two?’ asked Ron. 

‘Yeah. First, I didn’t want to risk the two of you demanding to come with me. I would have had to have stunned you or something to stop you from joining me. I _needed_ to die; you two didn’t.’ 

‘And?’ 

‘And I don’t think I would have been able to make that walk if I saw either of you. You would have tried to talk me out of it and I would have listened because I was terrified. I wouldn’t have been able to say goodbye; you both mean too much to me.’ He looked directly at Ron and smiled. ‘I would have been on that boat to Bolivia with you. I’d have _rowed_ there if given the chance.’ 

Hermione watched with pride as the two men she loved more than life itself regarded each other. What she could see between them was something that they would never say aloud but she knew it was there nonetheless. They loved each other like brothers and she considered herself blessed to have them both in her life. She felt a sense of peace at Harry’s admission. Her suspicions had proved to be correct and it was with a sense of awe that she now contemplated the sacrifice he had been willing to make for them all. She felt the tears run down her cheeks again and was suddenly startled as the two of them turned to face her. 

‘What?’ they asked in unison. ‘What’s wrong?’ added Ron. 

She didn’t reply. Instead she shook her head at them both and smiled before embracing them together and dashing off to be on her own for a few moments. She did not see the bemused expressions on the faces of her friends as they turned to face one another. 

‘Mental,’ said Ron. ‘Totally mental, that one.’ 

Harry’s smile broadened and he let out a deep, rumbling laugh. 

‘Yeah; absolutely bonkers. But she’s _your_ girlfriend, Ron. So you need to ask yourself who the mental one really is.’ 

For once, Ron didn’t have a response to a jest made at his expense. He struggled for a pithy reply for a few moments before grinning sheepishly. 

‘You’ve got me there,’ he finally replied. 


	5. Reality Bites

Harry sighed as he put down his empty glass on the table and delicately poured himself another Butterbeer. The Burrow was starting to empty as most of the guests who had come back after Fred’s funeral had gradually departed over the course of the day. Now all who remained were those he had decided needed to know the full story of his victory over Voldemort. It had been a trying day and he was not looking forward to telling his story.

The funeral had been something of an ordeal. The turnout had been impressive and it was a tribute to the calibre of man Fred Weasley had been that so many of his contemporaries had elected to say a final farewell. It had not been easy though; Molly and Arthur had understandably been distraught and the rest of the Weasleys had shed many tears as the coffin was lowered into its final resting place. As it had finally disappeared from view, he’d cast a glance at George who seemed to be beyond grief, such was his distress. Harry had no siblings and could not begin to understand the loss, but it struck him that there was something particularly poignant about a twin having to bury his brother. George had finally cracked and let the tears flow and the remaining twin’s agony was something Harry knew he would never forget.

The funeral had not been without incident. Word of his return had spread and as a result Rita Skeeter had been waiting like a vulture to pounce on any scraps of news. She’d been forcibly removed by Bill and Charlie and it had been with no small degree of satisfaction that they’d told her in no uncertain terms to clear off. He suspected that retribution was in the offing for such a snub but right now he did not give two hoots about Rita bloody Skeeter or anyone else of her ilk. He reckoned that only a few people deserved to know the full story. He trusted Kingsley to reveal that which was important and to discreetly withhold that which no one else needed to know.

‘Are you ready, Harry?’

He found himself smiling, despite his nerves. The concern was obvious in Hermione’s voice and he turned to face her.

‘As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess. Let’s get this over with.’

She nodded and took his hand as she led him into the familiar sitting room. He at least felt comfortable in such surroundings; the Burrow had provided him with so much succour and relief over the years that he was glad he had chosen it as the location for his “confession.” He felt the eyes of everyone present on him as he took his seat. All of the Weasleys were present, including Fleur. Kingsley, Hagrid and Minerva were also in attendance and he was glad about this. They had all made a huge contribution to the final victory and he believed they deserved the full story. He was aware of a profound silence and so took a deep breath and began to speak.

He talked for over an hour without interruption. He told them of the Horcruxes and the Hallows. Of the deal made between Albus and Severus and the manner of the latter’s death. He spoke of his mother’s sacrifice and the double connection that had been forged between himself and Voldemort. He omitted nothing; the ordeals in the tent when they were on the run; the events at Godric’s Hollow; Hermione’s torture at Malfoy Manor and Dobby’s heroic intervention; he spoke of Draco being master of the Elder wand and his own sudden appropriation of the weapon. Finally, he told them of his death; of Dumbledore offering the choice to return and of Narcissa Malfoy’s duplicity and how he had needed her to lie for him. When he reached the end of his tale he was aware of only silence; a silence broken only by the intermittent sobs from several of the people present.

‘Did you know?’ Minerva finally managed to ask.

‘Know what?’ he replied.

‘Did you know Voldemort’s curse wouldn’t work?’

‘No,’ he replied simply.

This revelation was greeted with silence.

‘But why, Harry?’ asked Ginny suddenly. ‘Surely there was another way? You never even said goodbye!’

He deliberately avoided looking in Hermione’s direction at these words. Instead he turned to his former girlfriend.

‘I had no choice, Ginny. He had to be destroyed and it was the only way. What was one more death if it meant ridding us of him forever?’ He looked up sharply as Arthur approached him and felt suddenly isolated and threatened for some reason but was relieved when the elder man simply refilled his glass. He nodded gratefully to him and took a careful sip.

‘Look,’ he continued, ‘I’ve told you everything. I have no desire to justify my actions to anyone. I am having enough difficulty in justifying them to myself. So, I would be grateful for no more questions. Instead, I have one or two of my own,’ he added, turning to Kingsley. ‘What do you intend to do with this information?’

Kingsley looked taken aback for a moment. ‘I don’t know yet, Harry,’ he finally replied. ‘I will need time to digest it all.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘I’m open to suggestions. I’m pretty new to this game,’ he reminded the room.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Harry smiled too. ‘If I may, _Minister_?’ he asked, stressing the title. Kingsley nodded, still smiling. ‘I would like the role of Severus Snape made known to the world. He died a hero and I cannot begin to contemplate how difficult his task was. People ought to know.’

‘Agreed, Harry. He deserves nothing less.’

‘Good. I would also be grateful if you could keep reports of my death and link to Voldemort out of the public eye. I have enough trouble being the “chosen one” without being “the boy who lived twice.”’ He saw Kingsley nod his agreement and hesitated a moment before continuing. ‘I want a full pardon for the Malfoys as well.’

‘WHAT?’

Harry closed his eyes. He had been expecting the outburst and he turned in resignation to his friend.

‘Ron, if Narcissa hadn’t lied I would _really_ be dead. Voldemort would have finished me off there and then.’

‘She only lied to save the skin of her useless son. Have you forgotten what they did? Hermione was tortured in their house!’ he exclaimed angrily. ‘They’ve done nothing but terrible things over the years. Do you really think one lie makes up for that? Do you?’

‘Yes, I do as a matter of fact. I know about what about happened at Malfoy Manor; how could I forget?’ he asked quietly and suppressed a shudder as he remembered Hermione’s screams. ‘And I know she only lied to save Draco. But can you think of a better reason for finally defying Voldemort? Her motives don’t matter; at least not to me. What really matters is the choices one makes, whatever the reason for making them. She chose to help me when it really counted. Dumbledore always believed that and I reckon he would have given them another chance too. Besides, I reckon Kingsley is going to have enough trouble rebuilding our world without making even more enemies. Am I right?’ he asked, turning to the Minister.

Kingsley regarded him thoughtfully. ‘Yes; you’re right. We may have won but there remains much to be done. Not everyone will be glad to see the demise of Voldemort. I fear I will have to tread very carefully at first.’

‘So what are you proposing?’ asked Arthur. ‘Are you planning wholesale reforms?’

Kinglsey pursed his lips. ‘Eventually, Arthur. But first I must consolidate my position.’ He sighed. ‘To be perfectly honest, I never sought nor expected to ever achieve such a position. I was happy as an Auror.’

‘So why did you take the job?’ asked Hermione.

Kingsley regarded her for a long moment. ‘Because there was no one else. At least; no one I would trust. I believe we have a great opportunity to make changes in our society that will be beneficial for all. I believe we finally have the chance to remove some of the oldest prejudices in our world and build a society that is worthy of our victory. Albus always dreamed of a fairer system and worked all of his life to achieve this. I think I can fulfil his dream, but first I have to rebuild.’

Harry cleared his throat. He saw an opening and decided to exploit it. ‘What kind of changes? Do you mean improved rights for non-human creatures? That sort of thing?’ He spoke as nonchalantly as he could, almost as if he was discussing the weather. ‘Is that the kind of thing you are talking about? Improved rights for House Elves and Giants and Werewolves and such?’ he pointedly did not look at Hermione as he asked this.

Kingsley smiled. ‘That’s exactly the sort of thing I am talking about, Harry. Once I establish my position, one of the first things I will do is tackle the issue of House Elf abuse. They deserve it after fighting for us against Voldemort. I will send envoys to the giants too, though I suspect that they will be quite content to remain alone. It will not hurt to establish diplomatic links with them.’

‘And werewolves?’ asked Ron and Harry was impressed by how casual he sounded.

Kingsley’s face darkened. ‘I’m afraid we will encounter some opposition in that regard,’ he began. ‘That particular issue will take a long time to sort out.’ He turned to Bill. ‘I’m sorry about this; I really am. If it were entirely up to me I would deal with the issue immediately, but I think that the opposition to werewolf reform will be too much to bear at the present time. The public will not accept any attempt to give werewolves equal status.’  
  


‘But that’s not fair!’ exclaimed Harry. ‘They deserve better treatment!’ He realised he was getting angry and made an effort to contain himself. ‘What about Remus? And Bill? They fought Voldemort to the end.’

‘I know it isn’t fair, Harry. And I know exactly what Remus and Bill contributed. But I need to knit our society together and it will take time. My position is built on sand at the moment. I am _Provisional_ Minister. If I even attempt to reform the law on werewolves then I will be out of office before I even begin.’ He held up his hand as Harry made to interrupt. ‘I understand your frustration, Harry; I really do. But you have to remember that while Remus and Bill fought against Voldemort, more werewolves fought for him. Greyback led significant numbers into the recent battle and many of them escaped – we still haven’t found Greyback himself. The public – not to mention the Wizengamot – will not even consider werewolf reform until we deal with those who fought for Voldemort.’

‘But they only fought for him because he promised them equality! They have been discriminated against for centuries by our kind. Can you blame them?’

‘I’m well aware of that, Harry. I do not blame them, but others will. You said it yourself. One’s motives don’t matter. What really matters is the choices that one makes. They chose to support Voldemort.’

Harry opened his mouth to respond but found that he did not have the words to express himself. He was damned by his own words. ‘That’s unfair to them, Kingsley. It’s not the same.’ It sounded lame; even to him.

‘Harry, you and I both know it _is_ the same.’ He held up his arms, almost as if trying to placate an enemy. ‘No need to remind you that I’m on your side, Harry. I agree with you entirely. But we are in the minority; it will take a long time to resolve this issue. As you say, centuries of prejudice have to be dealt with. I need to walk before I can run. My priority has to be rebuilding our society. I will have to work with people I would rather not deal with. Rooting out the bad eggs will take time so I will not be able to tackle such a contentious issue until I establish myself. _If_ I establish myself.’

Harry felt the frustration threaten to overwhelm him. He had been aiming to offer Hermione some hope that she might not face the same hostility as Remus if she was fully cursed. Instead, Kingsley had merely confirmed her deepest fears. It would be years – if ever – before werewolves would be accepted as part of mainstream society. He turned to Hermione, his eyes apologetic.

She looked straight back at him and their eyes met. Without saying a word, she managed to communicate to Harry that she was grateful for his effort – that no apology was needed. He could sense her distress; could almost taste her fear as the implications of Kingsley’s assessment finally hit home. He nodded gently to her, sending a message.

_I’ll be at your side, Hermione. All the way - whatever it takes._

She held his gaze for a few moments longer before nodding in return.

_I know, Harry. Thank you._

oOoOoOoOoOo

Hermione remained in her chair as she watched the others file out of the room. The mood – which had already been sombre as a result of Fred’s funeral – was now very contemplative as each person considered what Harry had divulged and struggled to digest everything that he had done to finally overcome Voldemort. She suspected that there were many more questions that needed answers but she also knew that everyone present recognised that Harry would not be forthcoming with any more revelations. He had said everything he intended to say and she knew he would not be budged on the issue.

Kingsley’s comments had given everyone food for thought too. Anyone labouring under the misapprehension that everything would be rosy now that Voldemort was gone was seriously evaluating what the Minister had said. It was clear that Kingsley faced a lot of opposition to his appointment and that he had a monumental task in front of him as he strove to knit together the various strands of the magical world. That he would not have carte blanche to act was something she had always known, but she suspected that this had come as an unpleasant surprise to some of the others.

_Not least to Harry._

She smiled as she recalled his none-too-subtle attempts to discuss werewolf rights. Only she, Harry, Ron, Bill and Minerva knew why he had asked about the subject and she was grateful for his efforts. She was grateful to Ron too for showing an uncharacteristic display of tact and decorum. It seemed her “two boys” were doing everything they could for her and while she appreciated the fact, she was aware that there was only so much either of them could do. The tenth day of the month would ultimately decide her fate.

It was for this reason that she remained in her seat. She waited until the next to last person had reached the door before calling out to the oldest Weasley son.

‘Bill? Do you mind if we have a quick word?’

Bill Weasley smiled at the question and it was clear to Hermione that he had been expecting it. She didn’t think she was so transparent but evidently Bill had noticed her predicament.

‘No problem, Hermione,’ he finally replied, quietly shutting the door as he did so. ‘What can I do for you?’

Now that she had him alone, she didn’t know where to begin. She took a few moments to gather her thoughts.

‘I don’t know quite how to put this,’ she began. ‘But I have been feeling a bit…tense recently. Is that normal, do you think?’  
  


Bill didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he poured himself a glass of Firewhisky as he considered how to answer. She shook her head at his unspoken offer of a drink and watched as he sat down in the chair opposite with a deep sigh.

‘You have every right to be tense, Hermione. You have been through a lot this week.’

She considered his statement briefly. ‘It’s not just that,’ she began slowly. ‘If it were just that then I would not be worried. You see, I’m feeling…irritable? Short-tempered? It’s hard to explain but I’ve found myself being needled by the least little thing the past few days. I was wondering if it was because…’

‘…because it’s getting closer to the full moon,’ finished Bill, flatly. ‘It’s possible, Hermione. Indeed; it’s probable.’ He smiled suddenly and it lit up his face. ‘I get a bit tetchy too when the full moon draws close. Fleur calls it my PLT.’

Hermione took a few seconds to work this out. She smiled once she caught on.

‘PLT? You mean “pre-lunar tension?’

Bill laughed gently. ‘Yeah, that’s what she calls it. I tell her it’s only fair as she gets a bit cranky three days a month too. Thankfully we are not in sync; Merlin help us if we are both “on” at the same time. She can be temperamental enough at the best of times…’

Despite herself, Hermione laughed at the absurdity of the situation. ‘So it’s normal to get a bit…edgy as the full moon draws closer?’

Bill nodded. ‘Entirely normal. Remus used to suffer from it too. We discussed it when I was first bitten.’ He looked directly into her eyes and offered her a reassuring smile. ‘The PLT isn’t any worse for those fully cursed, if that is what you are wondering. I felt exactly as Remus did for most of the month and was subject to the same stresses he was. It was only when the moon was full that our differences became apparent. He would lose all control and I would remain in command of my faculties. So don’t dwell on it; the fact that you are feeling a bit…odd is neither here nor there. It doesn’t tell us if you are fully cursed or not. So don’t give up hope.’

Hermione smiled at the words and felt the pressure abate somewhat. She knew that she might still be fully cursed, but Bill’s words of reassurance had convinced her not to fear the worst. At least not yet. She decided to probe further.

‘So can you tell me what it’s like?’ she asked tentatively. ‘Not actually being a werewolf. I was thinking more about the prejudice you face.’

Bill seemed to take a moment to consider the question. ‘I guess I’m just lucky,’ he finally replied. ‘I have a woman who loves me for being me and doesn’t care about my condition; I have a family that doesn’t give a toss either and I work for the Goblins who don’t care so long as I keep making them money. It really hasn’t affected me too badly. I’ve encountered a bit of hostility from some people, but not anyone worth bothering about.’ He looked up and saw a flash of relief on Hermione’s face. He decided he would have to break her heart and plunged on. ‘You have to understand something though; I’m the exception to the rule. Most werewolves have to deal with appalling discrimination. Remus couldn’t get a job for love nor money and when he finally did get one, he was forced to leave as soon as the truth about his condition was revealed. Whether you are fully cursed or not, you are going to face a lot of hostility, whatever you decide to do with your life. _If_ word gets out, that is. What are your plans anyway?’

‘No idea,’ she replied. ‘I haven’t really thought about it. We had so much to do.’ She shrugged. ‘I thought maybe working in research; or politics? Maybe even teaching,’ she added wistfully. ‘I really don’t know.’

‘Well, let me give you some advice; keep this close to your chest. You, Harry and Ron occupy a unique position in our society for what you did. If anyone could keep this a secret then I reckon you three could. You might need to tell Kingsley but you can trust him. But keep it under wraps as best you can regardless of how bad the curse is. Not even Harry will be able to save you from ostracism if word gets out. Prejudices are too deep-rooted. I hate to break this to you but you need to know what you will be facing.’

Hermione nodded soberly at his words. She’d an idea of just how bad things might get, but Bill’s cold assessment of reality had put paid to any suggestion of convincing the majority that werewolves could be trusted.

‘Thanks, Bill,’ she finally replied. ‘I’d rather know the truth than be comforted by lies. I’ll find out sooner or later anyway and I would rather it was sooner. Forewarned is forearmed.’

Bill nodded his understanding. ‘Just so you know, my door is always open if you ever want advice – even if you just need to talk.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘It would be even if you weren’t going out with my brother.’

She blushed at this remark, not realising that her and Ron’s burgeoning relationship was common knowledge. Bill noticed her reaction and laughed heartily.

‘If you are going out with my brother you’re going to need all the help you can get,’ he added with a mischievous glint.

She regarded him for a moment, slightly shocked by the jest. Then, despite the stress—despite the edginess and the worry—she threw back her head and laughed heartily.

_Things might just be OK after all._

oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry did his best to concentrate on the chess board in front of him. He reached out and groped for his bottle before putting it to his lips and taking a mouthful of Butterbeer. He was in trouble; Ron was—as usual—completely thrashing him and Harry saw no way out of his current predicament. His chess pieces were eying him nervously and finally, he let out a relieved sigh as he accepted the inevitable and gently toppled over his King. He looked up at Ron, a smile on his face.

‘Want a rematch?’

Ron tried his best not to look too smug but failed miserably. He cast his eyes up over Harry’s shoulder and noticed something that he should have seen earlier—something Harry should have seen earlier too.

‘Nah; I reckon I’ll just rest on my laurels for the moment. I’m going to see if I can find Hermione; I’ve been wondering where she has got to. I’ll be back in a minute,’ he added before quickly leaving the room.

Harry was perplexed; it seemed as if Ron couldn’t get out of his company quickly enough. _What’s he up to?_

‘Harry? Have you got a minute?’

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice, not realising that there was someone else in the room. He turned to the source and it suddenly dawned on him why Ron had made such a hasty exit. It appeared that his friend had suddenly developed a sense of discretion.

‘Hi, Ginny. Of course I have a minute.’

He watched as she nodded at his words and moved to join him at the kitchen table. He did his best to suppress a small smile as he realised that Ginny had probably manipulated events so she could have a moment alone with him. While he wasn’t too happy at the prospect he knew that they were long overdue a talk.

‘How are you?’ she asked and he could tell she was nervous. ‘Are you feeling better after your…break?’

He felt suddenly guilty; the knowledge that he had not given her a second thought when he'd left Hogwarts after his argument with Hermione rushed to the front of his mind.

‘I’m feeling much better, thanks,’ he began. ‘I’m really sorry I never spoke to you before I left. I should have told you what I was doing. You deserved that at least.’

‘You don’t owe me anything, Harry. Not after what you did. I…I just wanted to make sure you were OK.’

He smiled. ‘Thanks. I’m OK.’ He paused for a moment as he decided how best to proceed. He became aware of the sweat that had formed on the palms of his hands and he had to force himself not to wipe them on his trousers. _This is ridiculous! I defeated Voldemort! Surely I can talk to Ginny!_

‘I reckon that’s not all you wanted to speak to me about?’ he asked gently. He forced a smile to try and put her at ease.

She flushed and looked away. ‘No, it wasn’t.’ she replied simply. ‘I don’t want to rush you or anything, but I was wondering…wondering if we can pick up from where we left off; if you want to pick up from where we left off.’

Harry considered her words. A year ago, his answer would have been obvious and immediate; he would have said “yes” and then drawn her into a kiss. Now, after everything that had occurred, he wasn’t so sure. He cleared his throat. ‘You have been very patient with me, Ginny. More patient than I deserve. I should have spoken to you before now about this. I’m sorry.’

She waved away his apology. ‘Don’t be silly. You had more important things to deal with.’

‘No, I didn’t. I was being selfish…I should have spoken to you before now,’ he repeated, before sighing. He found himself looking at the chessboard in front of him, wondering why he’d been avoiding this conversation _. It’s because you do have more important things to deal with, you idiot!_ said a voice in his head. He leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair, finding it difficult to look at her straight in the eye. All he could think of at that moment was Hermione and he realised that an image of her had popped into his head as soon as Ginny had said the words “more important”. It occurred to him that Hermione’s problems _were_ more important to him and he found himself wondering what that meant. His reverie was broken when Ginny spoke again, almost as if from a distance.

‘And what would you have said to me?’ she asked softly. ‘What would we have spoken about?’

Harry felt both questions strike him like a blow as he was dragged back into reality and he found himself leaning forward again, his hands falling to his sides as he once more looked at the chess pieces on the table in front of him. He found himself considering her words. _What the hell would I have said to her?_

In the silence that stretched out between them, he finally realised the only honest answer he could give her.

‘I don’t know.’ He finally looked up at her and saw her eyes widen at his words.

‘You don’t know?’

He shook his head. ‘Not any more. Six months ago—hell, even a few weeks ago—I’d have been able to answer you. I’d have told you that I wanted things to be back the way they were last year; that I thought about you all year; that I used to look at the Marauder’s Map to see if I could find you—to see if you were OK.’ As he recalled the memory, it suddenly occurred to him that he had only done so as an excuse not to have to face Hermione’s tears as she sobbed in her corner of the tent. He closed his eyes, ashamed at his actions and aware that this was something Ginny did not need to know. It was also something that made him consider his motives for acting as he did. His train of thought was interrupted as Ginny finally replied.

‘So, what changed, Harry,’ she asked softly. ‘What changed in a few weeks to make you “not know” anymore?’

He looked directly at her as he realised the truth. ‘Everything,’ he replied softly. ‘Everything changed.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment before continuing. ‘It’s hard to explain. Last year I dared to dream. I dared to dream that we might actually win and that you and I might have a future. Then the thought came to me a few weeks ago that I wouldn’t come through it. I resigned myself to dying and I was able to reconcile myself to that so long as I took Voldemort with me. I honestly thought that I wouldn’t make it and I forgot all about my future; our future. Now that it’s all over, now that the future is here and I’m still a part of it, I don’t know what I want. Can you understand that?’

Ginny nodded soberly. ‘I think I can, Harry. Do you need more time? I don’t mind waiting,’ she added, hope in her voice.

‘I do,’ he replied abruptly. ‘You deserve more than I can give you, Ginny. A lot more. It’s not fair on you to ask you to wait any longer because I have no idea if I will ever be able to give you what you want. I don’t even know what I want anymore,’ he added.

‘I’ll still be here when you finally do know,’ she replied. ‘I dared to dream too, and you are my dream.’

He shook his head at these words. ‘Don’t, Ginny. I fear that is all it is—all it will ever be; a dream. I don’t want to give you false hope. I don’t want any misunderstanding here,’ he added.

‘Are we breaking up?’ she asked, a catch in her voice.

He looked at her with a steady gaze. ‘I’m sorry, Ginny. It wasn’t supposed to be like this,’ he replied. ‘I’m not even sure if we have anything to break up,’ he added in almost a whisper. He hadn’t meant to sound so callous, but he realised that he had only voiced his innermost thoughts. He watched quietly as Ginny stood up, her hands balled into fists at her side.

‘I’m not giving up so easily, Harry. I’ll still be here when you finally see sense,’ she added, defiantly. She turned away quickly and hastened for the stairs, obviously going to her room.

He picked up the white queen from the chessboard and sighed deeply as he pondered it. _So much for not having any misunderstandings,_ said the little voice in his head. He knew this still needed to be resolved but he suddenly felt as if he could sleep for a week. It was as if all the burdens he’d been carrying of late suddenly exacted their price and sapped him of his strength. He lowered his head.

He didn’t know how long he sat examining the chess piece in his hand before a voice finally broke into his thoughts.

‘Where’s Ginny?’

He looked up and was greeted by a concerned expression on the face of Hermione and a confused look from Ron.

‘In her room.’

‘Why?’ asked Ron. ‘We sorted it so you could have some time together. You two were supposed to…’ he stopped as Hermione nudged him firmly in the ribs.

‘Supposed to what, Ron?’ Harry bit back. ‘Supposed to snog each other senseless? Fall into each other’s arms and live happily ever after?’ he snapped. ‘It doesn’t always work out like that.’

‘What happened, Harry?’ asked Hermione softly.

Harry shrugged. ‘We broke up, I guess. I don’t think Ginny believes me, but we broke up.’

‘Why?’ asked Ron and there was a hint of anger as well as a sense of loss in his tone. Harry looked at him.

‘We just did, Ron. I’m not in the mood to explain myself to you right now. I’m going to bed; I’m exhausted. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,’ he added as he abruptly stood and pushed between his two friends as he too retreated towards the stairs.

Hermione watched him go, a sense of sadness growing within her. She turned to Ron and noticed him eye Harry’s retreating back, his lips thin. She could tell he wasn’t happy about this, but it really was none of their business. Finally, Ron turned to face her, forcing a smile.

‘They’ll be fine. It’s been a tough week. They’ll sort it out in the morning.’

Hermione smiled her agreement but deep down she knew better.


	6. Moment of Truth

Hermione pulled her cloak tighter around her as she looked out over the Hogwarts Lake. Despite the fact that it had been a warm, spring day, the night sky was bereft of clouds and as a result, the temperature had fallen abruptly after the sun had set on the western horizon. She had come here in order to get a few minutes to herself; to enjoy a few final moments of peace because tomorrow was _the day_.

She had done her best not to dwell on it but it had proved to be nearly impossible. After Fred’s funeral, some normality had returned to their lives – at least, as close as normal as it was possible to get for them. She and Harry had initially remained at the Burrow, both having nowhere else to go for the moment, until they had decided to head to Hogwarts. She knew she still had to decide what to do about her parents but she also knew that she had to deal with the full moon first. She had to _know_. She’d felt so lonely; had wanted more than anything else to see and hold her parents and for the first time in her life she had gained an insight – the merest hint of understanding – into what Harry must have to deal with all the time. She had nowhere else to go but at least she knew where her parents were. Harry had nowhere else to go but he’d never had anywhere to go his entire life. It occurred to her that he never spoke about it; that the closest he’d ever come to opening up about it had been on that bitter night at Godric’s Hollow when they had stood at the graves of his parents. She had felt such an overwhelming sense of sadness as she realised how much she took things for granted. Harry had no family to speak of; something that she hoped never to have to face herself.

 _But he does have me! And Ron! And Ginny and all of the other Weasleys!_ She frowned suddenly as the thought reminded her of the events back at the Burrow when Harry and Ginny had broken up. As far as Hermione was concerned, Harry deserved happiness more than anyone else on earth and it saddened her deeply to think that he might no longer have the future filled with promise that had seemed open to him in the immediate aftermath of destroying Voldemort. Her own future happiness was in doubt, she knew, but she was also aware that she had Ron and Harry to offer her support if things tuned out for the worst. She also had her parents; she just had to decide what to do to bring them back into her life.

She sighed and looked up to the night sky. The moon shone brilliantly and she noted dispassionately that it was nearing its maximum size; that it was over three quarters of the way to being full and that tomorrow it would pass the critical point. She had been feeling it pull at her for a few days now. Nothing dramatic; just a sense within her, almost like a pulse beating through her that made her feel distinctly on edge. She knew that she was feeling highly strung at what faced her anyway and so was having trouble working out exactly how much she was being affected by the lunar cycle.

_Maybe it’s all in my head?_

Her talk with Bill had certainly eased her fears. As usual, she had assumed the worst when first experiencing the effects of the lunar activity. She smiled; _PLT indeed!_

She turned at a footfall behind her and smiled despite her solitude being interrupted.

‘Hi, Ron,’ she said quietly. She had to admit that she had been pleasantly surprised by his behaviour recently. He had been a rock to her. They had shared a few chaste kisses, both of them nervous as they tried to move their relationship on from that of two close friends. Two friends who admittedly fought like cat and dog, she mused. But they had not fought since that moment during the battle when she had finally thrown caution to the wind and had kissed him. They were facing possible death; she had not wanted to die without resolving the issues between them. And she was glad she had done so; Ron had displayed a level of maturity and sensitivity that she’d thought beyond him ever since. His actions had dispelled her fears that they would continue to fight all the time. That was not the sort of relationship she wanted; she could deal with it in a friendship but not in a romantic relationship and so his change of heart was a source of joy to her.

‘Hiya,’ Ron finally replied. ‘Are you OK? It’s freezing out here.’

‘I’m fine. I just wanted a few moments alone.’

He seemed quite put out by this, she noticed.

‘Do you want me to go?’ he asked.

In response, she held out her hand and waited for him to take it. After a moment’s hesitation, he did so.

‘No; I don’t want you to go. Thanks for looking for me. Your company is always welcome.’ She paused for a moment as something occurred to her. ‘How did you know where to find me?’

She noticed that he looked a bit sheepish at the question. ‘Ah, well; I didn’t actually. It was Harry who suggested that I would find you here,’ he finally replied.

She smiled to herself. _He would. He knows me too well._ ‘I’m glad you went looking for me regardless of how you found me,’ she said.

This seemed to mollify him and they stood in companionable silence for a few moments, both looking thoughtfully at the moon.

‘Tomorrow then?’ Ron finally asked.

She nodded and tried to keep her tone light. ‘Tomorrow.’

Ron gripped her hand tighter. ‘Whatever happens; I want you to know that I will not leave you. You know that, right?’

She smiled. ‘I know that. And thanks. I don’t know what I would do without you. And Harry,’ she added.

Ron smiled. ‘Well; thankfully, you won’t ever have to find that out. I won’t leave you and I know Harry won’t be going anywhere either. I know too that he’ll kick my arse if I let you down. He loves you, you know.’

‘He does?’ She found her heart giving just a little _skip_ at the words but before she had time to reflect on this, Ron continued.

‘Of course he does! He told me himself. He told me that he loves you like a sister.’

She smiled at these words, grateful for what Ron was trying to do. But then a niggling little voice penetrated her thoughts. It was her logical voice; the one that always interfered when things didn’t add up.

_How can he love me like a sister? He doesn’t have a sister. How would he know?_

‘That’s really sweet of him. I love him like a brother too,’ she finally replied, aware that she had no answer to her own internal question. She also found herself wondering about the circumstances that would have led to Harry saying something so personal to Ron. There was a tale to be told there, she knew.

It was just at that moment that she noticed the briefest flash of relief pass across Ron’s eyes at her words before he smiled warmly at her. It was then that the little voice in her head decided to speak again.

_And how would you know? You’ve never had a brother either…_

She had no answer to that question and found herself strangely disturbed as she leaned in against Ron and tried to savour the warmth of his embrace.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry leaned back in the armchair that sat in front of the Gryffindor common room fire and sighed. He was dog-tired but found himself unwilling to go to bed until he discovered that Hermione was all right. When Ron had announced that he had been looking for her it had only taken him a few moments to work out where she might be. He had casually suggested that he try the lake for he knew that was a place where Hermione liked to go when she wanted to be alone with her thoughts. He’d surprised himself by voicing his opinion in this matter but had been pleased when Ron had taken his idea at face value and had immediately set off to find out if he was correct.

He rubbed his face with his hands in an effort to stay awake and turned his attention to his surroundings. It had been a busy few days. They had all been feeling a little stir-crazy at the Burrow so it was with some relief that they had received a letter from Minerva requesting help in the rebuilding of Hogwarts. He had been only too happy to comply with her request and not only because he’d wanted to find some time and space away from Ginny. He’d done his best to act as normal whenever she was near but this had proved nearly impossible. It was clear that Ginny was in denial and had tried to bring up their relationship whenever possible despite his protestations, so he’d grasped Minerva’s request for aid in a manner akin to a drowning man grabbing a thrown lifebelt.

Besides; the school had given him so much pleasure in his life that it was the least he could do to contribute to its repair. When he had finally viewed the damage he had found himself extremely saddened at what he beheld. Minerva had seemed to sense his mood for she had gently reassured him that they would be able to restore the castle to its former glory. It was a magical building, she had explained. Sometimes all it took was for the magic to be given a little boost.

So they had been busy these past few days. They had repaired and restored; rebuilt and patched up the damage and he had been grateful for the work because it allowed him the opportunity to take his mind off things. He was deeply concerned about Hermione and yet felt impotent as there was nothing he could do to assist. It was a matter of waiting for the full moon and the knowledge that the experience must be infinitely worse for his best friend only served to darken his mood. His distress had only been alleviated by the thought that Ron and Hermione seemed to be making progress in their relationship and that this in turn seemed to make Hermione happier. Her wellbeing was of paramount importance to him and anything that helped her get through this latest challenge was a blessing as far as he was concerned.

He had to admit to himself that he had sometimes been worried at the prospect of the two of them ever starting a romantic relationship. He had been afraid that he might become the third wheel in what had always been a close-knit group but recent events had put those fears to the back of his mind. He closed his eyes as he remembered the moments immediately after his final meeting with Voldemort. For a few brief moments he’d thought that he might just have a chance of the ordinary life he had always dreamed of but he now knew that a lot would depend on the outcome of tomorrow’s full moon.

_One step at a time._

He looked up at the portrait hole swung open and Ron entered the common room, leading a rather pink cheeked Hermione by the hand.

‘Everything OK?’ he asked his eyes on his bushy haired friend.

She smiled at the question. ‘It is now, Harry. Thanks.’

‘Good. Now come over by the fire, you look freezing.’ He stood up. ‘I was just going to bed anyway. I wanted to make sure you…that you were OK first.’

She smiled again at his concern. ‘You’re such a worry wart sometimes, you know that?’ she asked and leaned in and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. ‘I’m fine, Harry. Just a bit worried about tomorrow.’

He nodded his understanding and turned to Ron who was making “go away” signs with his eyes. He smiled at his friend’s rather poor attempt at subtlety. ‘I do know that. I can’t help it. You’re worth worrying about. Both of you,’ he replied. ‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ he added with a smile and noticed with pleasure that they both blushed at his comment. ‘Goodnight then,’ he added with a laugh. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

He turned and headed for the stairs before either had time to reply and felt a deep satisfaction at leaving them both with faces redder than Ron’s hair. Despite the seriousness of Hermione’s predicament, it wouldn’t have felt right to pass up a chance to needle his friends.

 _Some things have to stay the same_.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry looked grim as he turned his attention to Minerva and his expression seemed to convey exactly what he was thinking. He noticed that the headmistress looked distinctly uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

‘It’s the best we could do at such short notice, Harry,’ she began. ‘Hopefully we shall have no further use of this room after tonight.’

Harry softened his expression and turned his attention back to the chamber in front of him. _Chamber_ was the right word, he mused grimly; this particular room looked like it might have been a place of torture centuries in the past. It was about thirty foot square, the walls were of grey stone and the whole place was damp and cold. Even if he had not had to walk down to the dungeons to reach this place, he would have known from the frigid temperature that the room was located deep in the bowels of the castle. Other than that the room was fairly unremarkable save for two obvious things. The first were the iron bars that split the room neatly into two halves. It gave one the feeling that one was looking in on a prison cell and although the bars looked old and worn, when he had given them a good shake on first arriving it had been evident to him that they were as strong as they needed to be.

The second thing about the room that made it out of the ordinary - the thing that was causing him the most distress – was the presence of manacles that were chained to the far wall. One barely noticed them when first viewing this room but once these chains were spotted one could not help but see them to the exclusion of almost everything else. Their presence reminded an onlooker exactly what this room was for and he felt helpless as his eyes fell on them once again. He knew that in a few moments he would be chaining his dearest friend in them as if she was a wild animal. He closed his eyes and tried not to let the despair overwhelm him.

_There will be time for tears later. I need to be strong for her right now._

He opened his eyes again as he heard some footfalls in the corridor behind him and he knew with certainty that it would be Hermione and Ron. He cast another quick glance at Minerva and saw that she was struggling to stop her own tears from falling despite her stern demeanour. He gave her a nod of encouragement before turning to await the arrival of his friends.

After a few moments, Hermione and Ron appeared from around the corner, hand in hand. Both looked extremely pale and he suspected that his own countenance would reflect that of his two friends. He nodded grimly to them both, noticing that Hermione was clad only in a white robe – almost like a sheet – and he suddenly realised that this was in case the worst happened. If she did fully transform then there was no point in wasting a perfectly good set of clothes. It seemed such a trivial thing to be worrying about right now but it really drove home to him what she faced at this moment. Her entire life was on a precipice and all they could do was hope that she didn’t teeter over the edge.

‘Are you OK?’ he finally asked, breaking a silence that was becoming awkward. He cursed his own lack of subtlety on asking the question. _Of course she’s not OK!_

She regarded him softly, almost as if reading his thoughts. She turned to a small, barred window placed high in the wall and as he followed her gaze he saw the final light of the sun as it dipped below the horizon. He turned back to her and saw that she was watching him.

‘I just want to get this over with,’ she said. ‘I just want to know. One way or the other.’

He nodded, understanding fully as he would want to know too if he were in her shoes. ‘Let’s get this done then,’ he replied, his voice grim.

He glanced to his left as more footsteps could be heard and he was surprised when Poppy Pomfrey rounded the corner. He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised; that Poppy would obviously want to monitor the health of one of her students and also offer moral support to a friend. After all – save Bill Weasley, who would be dealing with the full moon himself tonight - those present were currently the only people alive who knew of Hermione’s predicament. It was only right that they should all be here for her.

His attention was diverted as Hermione moved from her position and finally entered the chamber. He was struck by the composure she was displaying even though he knew that she was terrified. He did not know what to do at that moment and was caught off guard when she turned to face Ron and himself.

‘Would…would you two mind if I asked you to…to chain me up?’ she asked tentatively. ‘It won’t feel so bad if you do it; I know that you two are always looking out for me.’

Harry was dumbstruck by the request and it took him a few moments to recover his composure enough to reply.

‘Of course. Anything I – that is – we can do to help.’

With these words he entered the chamber and stood beside her, taking one of her hands in his own and gripping Ron’s with the other so that the three of them were linked in a circle.

‘Whatever happens, we will always be here for you,’ he said and his voice was thick with emotion. She didn’t reply; instead she merely nodded her gratitude before releasing her grip on them and stepping up with her back against the wall and holding out her arms. She turned and leaned her head back against the cold stones and closed her eyes, waiting for them to act. Harry shared a look with Ron and realised that his other best friend was suffering too. They locked eyes for a few moments, communicating in silence before nodding resolutely at one another and making their way towards Hermione. In grim silence they began to shackle her to the wall.

Harry felt his heart pounding in his chest as he gathered the chains in his arms. He saw that Hermione had opened her eyes; that she was trying to be brave and he saw too that Ron looked as if he was going to be sick as he placed her slim wrist in one of the manacles. The distress of his two friends matched his own and he suddenly decided to take a chance as he crouched down and gently placed her leg in the metal clasp attached to one of the chains.

‘You know,’ he began, his voice as nonchalant as he could make it, ‘you know that in just about any other circumstances, I would probably enjoy chaining up an attractive girl to a wall. It opens up a number of possibilities.’

He looked up from his crouched position and saw the astonished expressions on the faces of his two friends who were both looking at him with open mouths. He heard a gasp of surprise from Minerva and closed his eyes.

_Oh, Shit! I’ve gone too far! Oh, shit!_

He opened his mouth to apologise when he was suddenly surprised to see Ron’s face split into a huge grin. His red-haired friend shared a glance with Hermione and Harry’s heart swelled when he saw a tremulous smile appear on her face too. Finally the smile broadened and she began to laugh, Ron joining in too.

‘Watch it, Potter,’ said Ron in mock seriousness. ‘That’s my girl you are talking about.’ His grin broadened and he made a big deal of examining the chains. ‘Now that you mention it though, these chains _do_ open up a number of possibilities…’ he added mischievously.

‘Ron Weasley!’ exclaimed Hermione. ‘If I weren’t chained to a wall right now you would be for it!’ her tone was severe but her smile and – above all – her eyes told them both that she was amused. Harry found himself glad that he had made the joke now; glad that he had given them something to laugh about, even in such dire circumstances. His own smile broadened as he returned his attention to the job at hand.

When he had finished with her leg he quickly shackled her arm and saw that Ron had finished his task too. The three of them shared a look, none of them knowing what to say now. Involuntary, he turned his gaze to the window and saw that the daylight had all but gone. There was no time left. He turned back to Hermione as she started to speak.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘Both of you.’ She took a deep breath before continuing. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’d rather you weren’t here to witness this if…if the worst happens. Can you do that for me?’

Harry had been expecting this because he knew that if the roles were reversed, he would not want his friends to see him transform. He nodded soberly. ‘Of course we don’t mind,’ he replied quietly. He leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, gripping her shoulder as he did so. ‘I’m here, no matter what,’ he said and was rewarded with a smile. He turned to Ron and gave him a nod. ‘I’ll leave you two alone for a minute.’ He turned back to Hermione. ‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ he added, his voice starting to crack. He turned away quickly, lest she finally witness him break down and made his way out of the room without a backwards glance. He felt physically sick and he crashed down on to a nearby chair, his head in his hands. He did not look up until a few minutes had passed and he heard Ron’s footsteps as he too left the chamber, closing the thick wooden door behind him with a loud slam and locking it with a large brass key.

The two friends shared a grim look before turning their attention to the window. The moon would be out soon.

_All we can do now is wait._

oOoOoOoOoOo

Hermione fought the feeling of nausea that threatened to overwhelm her as Ron finally left the room and closed the door behind him with a loud slam. The noise echoed throughout the room, reverberating and putting her in mind of a tombstone being slammed into place over a crypt. She heard the key turn in the lock and shuddered at the dark thoughts, realising that she had to stay focussed lest the panic take over. She turned her head to the right and wriggled her fingers in the manacles, satisfying herself that her friends had done a sufficient job in ensuring she had no chance of escape. She was cold and distressed and she knew that it could not have been easy for Ron and Harry to shackle her in this way but she’d needed it to be them that had done this for her. She needed to know that those that chained her were doing so out of love and not fear.

She thought back to the moment when Ron and Harry had chained her to the wall. She’d felt physically sick, both at her predicament and for having placed such a burden on her two dearest friends.

_And then Harry had cracked the line about chaining up an attractive girl._

She had been shocked at first. Astonished in fact; the comment was out of character for her friend. She’d not known what to think but then Ron had smiled and she too had seen the funny side. It was not that what he had said _was_ particularly funny – there was nothing remotely amusing about her current predicament. Rather, it was because she appreciated what he was trying to do. He was trying to alleviate her distress and also letting her know that this wasn’t the end of the world.

_It just feels like it._

She turned her attention to the small, barred window in the high corner of the room and saw the first glimmer of light begin to permeate through the bars.

_Not long now. Minutes; seconds, even, and I will know._

She closed her eyes and waited, feeling the pull of the lunar cycle but she took some consolation from the fact that she was not feeling anything extra; not experiencing anything that was different from previous nights. This gave her some cause for hope.

She breathed deeply and steadily as she waited, her impatience beginning to get the better of her. What was particularly daunting about her predicament was that she had no frame of reference; she had no idea what to expect and she suspected that she would not know how much she had been affected until it was too late. She hung her head and willed the time to pass.

Such was her concentration on her breathing that she almost missed it at first. She opened her eyes in response to a sudden…surge within her but just as she was trying to decide what it was it had passed. She could almost believe that she had imagined it.

_OK; don’t panic. Bill said he still feels the pull at this time of the month. It doesn’t mean anything – whatever it was…There! There it is again! What is that? Oh, God; help me; what is that?_

She lurched suddenly, her body splayed forward and pressing against the tension of the chains, the white robe taut against her skin. Her head turned up to the ceiling, her back arched as she strained against her bonds. She felt a brief moment of agony before it passed and she slumped back against the wall, breathing hard. She waited for something else to happen but it seemed that whatever was going on was finally over.

_M_ _aybe it’s going to be OK. Maybe I’m not…_

The scream that she let out at that moment was one that echoed throughout the dank, dark dungeons. It echoed beyond the bars and walls of her cell and reverberated down the corridor, past the horrified group who waited for news. She splayed herself forward again, unable to control her own movements as pain coursed throughout her body; a pain that was more than anything she had experienced in her entire life. As she fought to remain silent it briefly occurred to her that not even the torture at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange came close to the agony she was now enduring.

_Oh, God, what is happening to me? Help me, please?_

She felt a surge through her veins once again; an agonising pull that dominated everything else and blocked out all reason and rationality. She screamed again and some distant part of her mind realised that her cries of anguish now sounded more like a howl. She felt herself baring her teeth and clenching her fingers as she strained against the shackles that tethered her to the wall. She experienced a sudden, great terror that eclipsed the agony as she realised what was happening; accepted that her worst fears were coming true.

_Oh, Mum! Dad! I need you…Ron! Harry…Harry…_

This was her last conscious thought as, with another surge of agonising pain, she finally lost control of her reason and the beast took control.

For the moment, Hermione Granger had ceased to exist.


	7. Darkness at Dawn

The following morning brought yet another glorious sunrise to Hogwarts. As Harry proceeded along the corridor to the hospital wing, he could not help but notice the dawn of what promised to be a beautiful day. Not a cloud could be seen in the sky and as the sunlight cascaded in through the east windows his attention was diverted by the golden beams as they cast a yellow hue over the rubble and the destruction that was evident throughout Hogwarts at the moment. He could clearly see the dust as it drifted aimlessly around him and as he and Ron passed from the shadows between each window he could feel the warmth of the rays on his face. It was a beautiful late spring morning and the world was at peace.

But the world was also mocking him, he decided. It had no right to look so beautiful on such a day.

If the weather were to accurately reflect his current mood then Hogwarts would be swamped by a raging tempest. He walked in silence next to his friend but inside him a storm had brewed. He had not slept – how could one sleep at such a time – and he still wore the clothes from the previous day. His hair was even more dishevelled than normal and when he glanced at Ron he saw that his friend was in the same condition. Despite the fine weather, both men looked as if they had been battling the elements.

He clenched his fists by his side as he walked, the anger threatening to erupt at any moment. The problem he faced was that he had no one to rage against – no target for his frustration and despair.

_Minerva had come close, though._

Once it had become apparent that the worst had happened, Minerva had insisted that Harry and Ron depart for the night. In the face of their furious protestations, she had quietly explained that she and Poppy were the best people to deal with Hermione in the morning because they were more removed from the situation than either himself or Ron. She had spoken in a clipped tone, but he had recognised her distress and knew that she was not that removed from the situation herself – that Hermione meant a great deal to her too. It was then that Minerva had played her trump card.

_‘It must be left up to Hermione to decide when she wants to face the two of you. When she changes back she may not be in a…respectable state and so you cannot be present. Neither can Bill. Poppy and I will see to her, do not worry. I will let you know as soon as you are able to see her. You can’t do anything for her right now but she will need you both tomorrow.’_

He had wanted to argue, to shout and to scream but this was not the fault of Minerva McGonagall. He had seen the sense in her words and the compassion in her eyes and so had reluctantly acquiesced to her plea. In silence, he and Ron had slowly made their way back to the Gryffindor common room.

He closed his eyes as he remembered. Ron had sensed – and shared – his mood and had vacated their room, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Ron had obviously wanted to be alone too. So he had sat on his bed gazing out of the window, raging impotently at the fate that had cursed the life of his dearest friend.

And he had raged.

He did not know how long had passed before he had lost control. He had screamed obscenities into the night. Had cursed the fates; cursed all gods; cursed everything and everyone – not least himself. After everything they had endured to finally defeat Voldemort, fate had played one last, cruel trick on them all. He had turned away from the window and had vented his rage on the room. Nothing had been left untouched. He had not used his wand; instead he had used his bare hands and his feet to wreak a trail of destruction in his sleeping quarters. He had overturned tables; smashed objects against the wall; kicked over anything that wasn’t nailed down, before finally crumbling to a heap on the floor. He had known that despite everything he had endured in his short life, this latest horror was the worst – this one could break him.

He had finally stopped feeling sorry for himself shortly before dawn. Emotionally spent, he had finally realised that he did not have the luxury of self-pity – that his anger was selfish and futile. So he had roused himself and had made his way downstairs to the common room where he had found Ron sitting alone in an armchair in front of the fire. He too had been surrounded by destruction and it was obvious that he too had spent the night raging against the fates. The two men had exchanged their first words since hearing Hermione’s screams.

_‘Doesn’t help, does it?’ his red-haired friend had asked, without looking up._

_He had shaken his head solemnly. ‘Not really. But I suppose it gets some of it out of our system.’ He had glanced around the room. ‘Hermione will kill us when she sees what we have done to this place though.’_

_The two of them had finally shared a rueful smile at the thought of Hermione’s reaction to the destruction wreaked on her beloved common room._

_‘You didn’t damage any books, did you?’ Ron had asked with a smile._

_‘I wouldn’t dare.’_

_‘We’ll be fine then. She’d skin us alive if we had. She’ll understand the rest.’_

Now as they neared the hospital wing, Harry felt a deep gratitude that he had such a friend as Ron. He didn’t feel quite so alone and realised that he _had_ been selfish; that Ron too would be feeling exactly as he did – probably worse. Hermione was his girlfriend and he knew that Ron faced a burden greater than his own.

He looked up as he spotted Minerva outside the door of the hospital wing almost as if she was standing guard. When she spotted the two of them she quickly made her way towards them, a look of concern on her face. Harry felt his heart beating in his chest and tasted the metallic tang of fear in his mouth as he awaited the news.

‘She doesn’t want to see you. Either of you,’ said Minerva, without preamble. Her voice was stern but he could see the lie of this façade in her eyes. She was feeling this as much as anyone.

‘She doesn’t want to see us?’ repeated Ron incredulity in his voice.

The headmistress turned to him. ‘She says she just wants to be left alone to deal with things. I think she is feeling ashamed. Which is understandable,’ she added hastily. ‘We must respect her wishes in this matter, however. Perhaps it is for the best if we leave her for now?’

Harry narrowed his eyes dangerously. ‘You don’t believe that for a minute, do you?’ When he received no reply he continued. ‘She is hardly in the best position to decide what is best for her, is she?’ he asked, pointing at the door to the infirmary. ‘If we let her mope then she could do herself some damage. She needs her friends right now.’

‘You forget yourself, Mr Potter,’ replied Minerva. ‘It is up to her to decide whether or not to see you. As acting headmistress of this school I cannot allow you to interfere with the well being of one of my students.’ The tone of her voice was fooling no one.

_“Mr_ _Potter,” is it?_ he thought to himself. _That usually means trouble. But not this time;_ t _here’s_ _too much at stake._

‘No, Minerva. _You_ are forgetting yourself. Neither I nor Ron nor Hermione are students at this school any longer. We left at the end of sixth year.’ He was speaking softly. He had too much respect and affection for this woman to take his anger out on her. ‘You know – _you know_ – that she needs us right now despite what she says to the contrary. I appreciate what you are trying to do for her – she’s lucky to have you – but Ron and I are going in there right now to see her. You know this is the right thing to do. Please do not try to stop us. Please do not make this more difficult than it already is.’

For a few moments that seemed like an eternity to Harry, Minerva stood and regarded him, her lips thin. She seemed to be having an internal dispute and Harry waited patiently as his teacher and friend came to a resolution. Finally she nodded.

‘Just be careful, Harry; you too, Ron. She’s rather…fragile at the moment.’

Harry reached out and touched her arm. ‘We know,’ he whispered. ‘And thanks. You won’t regret this.’

‘See that I don’t, Mr Potter. See that I don’t,’ she repeated before turning and heading away down the corridor. Harry and Ron shared a look.

‘Ready?’

Ron nodded. ‘As I’ll ever be.’

oOoOoOoOoOo

Hermione Granger lay in her hospital bed crying quietly. She was screened on all sides by the curtain that Poppy had thoughtfully pulled closed around her after making sure she was settled and comfortable. She could not face the world right now and she fervently wished she could live the rest of her life behind a screen.

_I’m a monster. A beast!_

She recalled only too well the pain – the overwhelming agony – that she had endured during her transformation. Not even Bella’s torture could hold a candle to the agony she had experienced and she wondered mutely how it was that Remus had never uttered a word about the physical trauma of transformation. Every single book she had read on the subject had failed to prepare her for the experience and for once in her life she felt as if books had let her down. It was akin to being betrayed by a friend.

Her memories after she had transformed were vague and she did not want to go down that route right now. She’d had awareness but she had not been in control. That was something that terrified her and something she did not want to deal with at the moment. She closed her eyes.

_Right now I don’t want to deal with anything._

‘Hermione? Are you awake, Hermione?’

_That was Ron’s voice. What the hell is he doing here? I specifically told Minerva I didn’t want to see anyone!_

‘Hermione?’ Ron asked again.

‘Go away,’ she finally replied. ‘Just…go away, Ron.’

‘We need to talk, Hermione. Can I come in?’ he asked tentatively.

_Is he stupid? Or deaf?_

‘I said go away, Ron! Can you not understand plain English? I don’t want to see anyone. _Now go away!_ ’ she almost shrieked the last three words.

‘No,’ came the reply and it wasn’t Ron. She’d recognise Harry’s voice anywhere and she made to berate him too when the curtain was suddenly whipped back with a speed that terrified her. She glanced up briefly and saw Harry standing at the foot of her bed, his eyes blazing. Ron stood just behind his right shoulder, a more contrite look on his face. She turned away from them both.

‘Go away,’ she mumbled into her pillow, her tears falling anew.

There was no reply to her demand. Instead, she heard only footsteps and for one fleeting moment she thought they had finally obeyed her until she felt someone sit down on the bed behind her. A hand began to gently stroke her hair and she assumed it was Ron. She made to retort angrily when the person beside her began to speak.

‘Do you honestly think we would leave you now, Hermione?’ said Harry softly.

She found herself unable to reply such was her feelings at that moment. Anger, shame and sorrow fought within her but Harry’s simple question caused a feeling of such relief and gratitude to overwhelm her that for once she found herself unable to muster a response. She said nothing and turned away from him even further.

‘Go away,’ she repeated but her voice sounded hollow even to her ears. ‘I’m a monster,’ she added, this time with more conviction.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Hermione,’ replied Harry and she could detect a touch of reproof in his voice. ‘What you…became last night is not you. It’s not the person in front of me right now and not the person who is my friend.’ He sighed and shifted slightly and she could sense his movements; she instinctively knew he was looking at the ceiling and probably rolling his eyes as he tried to work out what to say next. Despite herself, a small smile cracked on to her face and she became aware that he had not stopped stroking her hair.

‘I’m going to speak plainly to you, Hermione, and I make no apologies for doing so,’ Harry finally continued. ‘This does not affect how Ron and I feel about you. You are still you, regardless of the change. I want you to know that. I _need_ you to know that. Now you may think that what you are doing is for the best. You probably think you are protecting us in some way – it’s what you have always done for us. You probably think that by cutting us out you are making things better for us. But that’s not your decision to make. It’s mine and it’s Ron’s and both of us know that things could never be better for us unless you were part of our lives too. I don’t think I need to add anything, really.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I’m going to go now; I’m going to give you and Ron some time to yourselves but before I go I want you to know that I don’t care what your thoughts on this are. You’re not cutting me out. I won’t allow it. So you can ignore me for now but we both know you can’t ignore me forever. Whether it takes an hour or a year for you to see sense, I’ll still be here when you finally decide to speak to me. I don’t care about what you were last night. I do care about the girl in front of me right now, though. So you just let me know when you have finished being silly, OK?’

With these final words, she felt the removal of his hand and the shift of weight on the bed as he stood to leave. She closed her eyes for a moment, cursing herself. She finally turned.

‘Harry?’ she called to his retreating back.

He paused and slowly turned to face her and she could detect a hint of amusement in his eyes. She found herself unsure of what to say now that she had his attention.

‘Thank you,’ she finally managed in a small voice.

She watched as his face lit up into a broad smile.

‘Don’t mention it,’ he replied before turning and heading out of the door.

Hermione blinked back some more tears and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before finally turning her attention to Ron. She managed a tremulous smile.

‘How are you?’ she asked in a too bright voice.

Ron didn’t reply. Instead, he moved swiftly to the bed and took his girlfriend in his arms as she finally let herself go and sobbed her heart out.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Ten minutes later, Hermione sat crossed legged on her bed and gazed out of the window. She had finally cried herself out in Ron’s arms and now she sat in thoughtful silence as Ron fussed around her like a mother hen. She smiled to herself as she considered the question Ron had just asked her. While she would be the first to admit that he had actually managed to surprise her with the sensitivity and compassion he had displayed thus far, she also knew that he was still capable of moments of crassness. His latest question had been one such moment.

_What was it like?_

How did one even begin to answer such a question? How could one who had undergone such a trauma possibly describe the experience to someone who had not?

_How can a werewolf describe what it feels like to a non-werewolf? It can’t be done._

Her recollections were vague but she realised that what she remembered most was the smell – or rather; the smells. She actually remembered _seeing_ smells and it was disconcerting to realise that some of the things she had taken as absolute no longer applied. Although she had been locked in her cell behind thick stone walls and a stout wooden door, she had been able to sense her friends in the corridor outside. She had even been able to determine who was sitting where merely through each individual scent and the truly astonishing thing was that she had been able to partially determine the emotional state of each person. Anxiety, despair, worry – it had all been there and she had recognised each for what they were. And fear. Above all, there had been the fear.

But how did one describe this? How could one possibly explain how each individual scent seemed to create a different colour in her mind; how each of her friends cast a different hue? A signature as distinct as one’s Patronus? One couldn’t describe it, she realised. It was like discovering an eighth colour of the spectrum and trying to describe it to people who could only see seven. The words just did not exist.

Even now she could sense Ron’s discomfort. While she knew enough about him to recognise his mood through visual clues, she could tell that he was nervous and worried that he had upset her with his question even though she wasn’t looking at him. It was subtle but it was there nonetheless. All her senses were heightened but particularly her sense of smell. If she closed her eyes and concentrated hard enough, she could smell the flowers outside in the castle grounds; the food being prepared in the kitchens. She could even smell into the past. The scent of Poppy, Minerva and Harry were still very much in evidence even though each of them had long left the room.

_No wonder Remus never spoke of this. He couldn’t possibly explain what it was like._

And then there was the transformation itself. She closed her eyes and suppressed a shudder. Her last full human memory was of looking on in horror at the claws growing on her hands. And of course, there had been the pain. A pain like nothing she had ever experienced as her body had been torn apart by the magical forces at work. Muscles had been stretched to breaking point; tendons and sinews elongated beyond their capacity. Nothing had been left unchanged and the process was agonising.

_And I need to go through it again tonight. And the next night. And for three nights a month every month for the rest of my life._

‘It was horrible,’ she finally managed to reply. She turned as she realised that Ron had stopped fussing over the various oddments on the bedside cabinet. ‘It was horrible,’ she repeated. ‘It’s too difficult to explain, Ron. I feel…different. I can’t put it any better than that. The world is a different place to me now.’

Ron nodded his understanding. ‘And you can’t explain how?’

‘Not to a non-werewolf,’ she confirmed.

‘Can’t you even give me a hint? I hate to ask but I thought…I thought that if I could understand – even a little - then I might be able to help.’

Hermione paused before replying. ‘I appreciate that, Ron; I really do. But you can’t possibly understand how I can smell everything. You can’t understand how I know you are nervous right now. You can’t understand how I know that someone has burnt toast in the kitchen this morning and you can’t understand how I also know that Professor McGonagall will walk into this room in about ten seconds,’ she added with a nod to the doors. ‘I don’t understand it myself,’ she added softly.

Ron looked agog for a few moments before turning his attention to the door. After a silence that seemed to last forever, the double doors finally swung open and Minerva McGonagall strode into the room, a determined look on her face. She glanced up to be met by a look of astonishment on the visage of Ron Weasley.

‘What?’ she asked, the curiosity evident.

But no reply was forthcoming. Instead she watched as Ron turned to Hermione, a questioning look on his face. For her part, Hermione just shrugged and turned once again to look out of the window.

_Nothing will ever be the same again, will it?_


	8. Hope

Harry Potter sat in an armchair in front of the empty fireplace in the Gryffindor common room and idly flicked through one of Ron’s old Quidditch magazines. His mind was not on the article in front of him. Since leaving Ron and Hermione alone in the hospital wing he had been at a loss for something to do to distract him from the events of last night. He was reluctant to face the horrible truth of Hermione’s condition and while the rational part of his mind knew that he would have to deal with it sooner or later, the emotional side of him was quite happy to make sure that the operative word was “later.”

It had been a few hours since he had left his friends. At first, he had taken his broomstick down to the Quidditch pitch and had tried to lose himself in the joy of flying but for once the feeling of exhilaration that he normally experienced when in the air eluded him and he did not enjoy the cathartic effect he had been seeking. After a while he had finally called a halt to what was fast becoming a futile exercise and had made his way to the common room.

Where he was still feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

Sighing, he tossed the magazine aside and stood to leave but just as he was heading for the portal he heard a tapping on the window. Turning, he noticed a familiar little owl that almost seemed to be jumping up and down such was its eagerness to deliver the message attached to its leg.

_Pig._

That probably meant a letter from Ginny, he realised and he hesitated for a moment before heading over to the window to allow the little owl access. On entering the room, Pig proudly offered the message and scooted off towards a bowl of water in the corner as soon as Harry had retrieved the missive. With a feeling of resignation, he sat once again in the same armchair, unrolled the parchment and began to read.

_Hi, Harry,_

_I hope you don’t mind me writing to you when you are busy with McGonagall but I could not wait until your return to the Burrow to tell you what I think you need to hear. I am missing you, Harry. I choose not to believe that everything is over between us – I understand that you have been under enormous pressure lately and that your behaviour reflects this. I believe we are meant to be together and that things will be ok if we just give it some time and talk to each other. I’m here for you if you need me for anything._

_On another note, can’t you tell me what you are doing? I think McGonagall is taking a liberty by having you return to Hogwarts so soon after the battle. I know you said that she had insisted on secrecy but I am really curious. I was hoping that after all of the secrets of the past few years, you might have been more inclined to share things with me. I don’t say this to reprove; I say it merely to let you know that I am here for you and that you don’t have to bear your burdens alone anymore. I know that Ron and Hermione have always been there for you but now that they have finally woken up and done what they should have done a long time ago, I was hoping that you might let me be the one to share things with. I hope you understand that – understand that I only want to be the one you feel you can turn to now that Ron and Hermione have each other._

_Anyway; I didn’t write to you to lecture or reprimand. I just wanted you to know that I am missing you and that I am thinking of you._

_Take care_

_Love_

_Ginny_

Harry took his time reading the letter and once he had finished he re-read it. He felt his mouth turn down into a grimace as he read her parting words again.

_Love._

He knew that he had not been fair to her and that she would be feeling like a prisoner in the Burrow right now. The Weasleys would still be dealing with the loss of Fred and he imagined that the atmosphere in the cottage must be difficult to endure. When he had left, he had told her that McGonagall wanted to speak to the three of them about a sensitive matter and that he could not divulge this to her.

But despite feeling sorry for her, he also knew that Ginny was deluding herself. With each day that passed he was more and more convinced that ending things with her was the right thing to do. Not easy, but _right._

He understood her disappointment but he knew he had to leave no room for ambiguity. He also knew that he could not tell her what was going on or the real reason he was at Hogwarts. First, this secret was not his to tell – it was Hermione’s if and when she was ready. And second, he had a strange feeling that Ginny could not be entirely trusted with the information. It wasn’t that he thought her anti-werewolf or anything; just that he didn’t think she was always entirely discreet.

With a sigh, he rose and found some parchment, ink and a quill on a table and sat down again, this time on the sofa, before formulating his thoughts and beginning to write.

_Hi, Ginny,_

_Of course I don’t mind you writing to me – it is always nice to hear from a friend. But I need to repeat what I said to you at the Burrow; we are no longer an item – we are just friends (I hope). I can only say again how sorry I am for hurting you as this was never my intention, but I think I would hurt you more in the long-run if I was to be anything other than totally honest with you now._

_I don’t believe we are meant to be together. I’m sorry._

_As to your other question; what we are doing at the minute is not for me to tell. I suspect that you will find out what is going on sooner or later but the decision is not mine to make. When you do find out you will understand, I hope._

_Take care_

_Your friend_

_Harry_

He placed his quill down thoughtfully. He had hesitated before writing the final sentiment but decided that he was not writing anything inappropriate or untrue. Content with his choice of words, he rolled up the letter and made his way over to Pig.

‘Feel up to another journey?’ he asked the little owl. _Sirius’ owl,_ he remembered sadly.

In response, Pig hooted softly and held out a leg for him to attach the letter. Once this was done he carried the little bird to the window before gently realising him. When he turned, he was surprised to see he was not alone in the room.

‘Sending letters home?’ asked Hermione with a wry smile.

He smiled in response. ‘Yeah; I’m just replying to Ginny. She says she’s missing me – us,’ he added hastily. He saw the concern on her face and hesitated before continuing. ‘She’s also asking what we are up to.’

He cursed himself as her expression darkened. ‘I’m sorr-‘

‘Don’t apologise, Harry. This isn’t your fault,’ she interrupted. Sighing she sat down on the leather sofa beside her and patted the seat next to her as an invitation for him to join her. When he was seated they sat in silence for a few moments before she spoke again.

‘I know I will have to tell people sooner or later but I want to do it on my terms. I think that I need to do it face to face. Can you understand that?’

‘Totally. I already told Ginny that it was not my tale to tell.’

She smiled her gratitude at his remark. ‘Thanks. I had to take a while to explain this to Ron but he finally got the message.’

‘Where is Ron?’ Harry asked, finally realising his friend was absent.

‘In the kitchens. Where else?’ she replied with a smile. Harry smiled too.

‘How are you?’ he asked softly. ‘I’m worried about you.’

‘I know you are. I can _feel_ it,’ she replied, placing her hand on her chest as she did so and he was startled by this piece of news.

‘You can feel it? How? In what way?’ he blurted and immediately regretted the question. ‘You don’t have to answer that. Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that,’ he added contritely.

She smiled at his awkwardness. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s hard for me to explain. My senses are just…heightened if you know what I mean? I just have a greater awareness of my surroundings. My hearing and particularly my sense of smell seem to be more developed. I can use them to see things that my eyes don’t pick up.’

Her voice had cracked slightly at saying this and Harry realised that she was trying to put on a brave face for _his_ benefit. ‘You never answered my first question,’ he said softly.

‘What question?’

‘How are you?’

She took a moment to reply to this. ‘Coping,’ she finally managed to say. ‘Just about coping.’

He didn’t reply; instead he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest in a tight embrace. For a long time neither of them spoke; he content to hold his friend, she content to take refuge in his arms. He found himself enjoying the sensation and was surprised when she suddenly pulled out of his grip.

‘I’m sorry,’ he blurted, feeling as if he had somehow done wrong. ‘I was ju-‘

‘It’s OK, Harry. It’s not you,’ she interrupted and nodded towards the portal. He turned, confused as his eyes fell upon absolutely nothing at all. He made to turn back to ask her what was going on when suddenly the door to the portrait hole swung open and Professor McGonagall strode into the room.

Now he did turn to face his friend, the astonishment plain on his face. He realised immediately that she must have sensed Minerva’s approach and he saw too that she looked uncomfortable under his scrutiny. He suddenly understood that she mistook his surprise for horror. He smiled his reassurance.

‘That’s a really useful talent you have there,’ he said softly and noticed her surprise at his comment. ‘Just think of the pranks we can get up to if you are keeping watch,’ he added and his heart filled as he watched her consider his words and slowly smile at his acceptance of her strange new “gift.” He gave her hand a soft squeeze.

‘Things are going to be OK,’ he added softly before turning his attention to Minerva. As a result, he did not see the sudden flush of pleasure that crossed the face of his dearest friend.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Minerva McGonagall was worried. As she approached the portrait of the Fat Lady her mind was churning with everything that had occurred in the previous few days. She had barely had time to come to terms with the defeat of Lord Voldemort when she had been ambushed by the affliction that had struck poor Hermione and she was struggling to deal with it all. The past month had been eventful to say the least. The battle and immediate aftermath had been overwhelming as had the realisation that so many friends and students had perished in that last, desperate struggle. Her new role of head teacher was proving to be more demanding than she though possible and she was aware that a few cracks had begun to appear in her normally stern façade. The ordeal that Hermione now faced was just one more calamity that had to be dealt with and at the present moment she felt like she was trying to put out a fire with a teaspoon of water. No matter what she did, everything seemed to be going wrong.

This latest setback was proving especially hard to deal with. For all that she liked to act aloof and stern, she knew that underneath she was really quite a sentimental person and she believed that a large part of this was due to the Celtic blood in her veins. Witch though she was, she was still a proud Scot and could still laugh and cry with the best of them. This was why she was having so much trouble at the moment.

Had anyone ever asked her, she would have emphatically denied ever having favourites among those whom she had taught over the years. Her stern and aloof demeanour was enough to convince anyone that she had no room in her heart for such sentiment.

_Convince anyone except me_ , she thought.

Harry Potter would have been a favourite even if he had not been the fine young man that he was. Any son of James Potter and Lily Evans would always hold a place in her affections simply because those two were among the most cherished people she had known in her long life. Her heart had wept at the ordeals that Harry had endured and she had always kept an eye out for him even on those occasions when she had to reprimand him. Harry Potter was definitely one of her favourites.

But Hermione Granger _was_ her favourite. Ever. She had recognised a lot of herself in the young Muggle-born witch and had liked the girl right from the start. Independent, intelligent, determined, fiercely loyal and honest. Hermione Granger was quite simply one of the most decent people she had ever encountered. It did not occur to her that these feelings were reciprocated. That Hermione Granger felt exactly the same way about Minerva McGonagall and for the same reasons but then, modesty was a quality that both shared too.

So when she had discovered the extent of Hermione’s curse, she had come closer to breaking than at any point in her life. Not the rise of Voldemort – not even the death of Albus – had shaken her as much as this latest catastrophe. So she had resolved to do everything in her power to help and it was with this in mind that she approached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

‘Victory,’ she said curtly and as the portrait swung open she entered the passageway without breaking stride. On reaching the common room she found herself smiling as she saw that the two students most in her thoughts were sharing a moment of privacy. Harry had a look of astonishment on his face and she saw him turn to Hermione and share a few whispered words. She was especially pleased to see him give her hand a soft squeeze and the smile that this elicited from Hermione. She found that she had to compose herself before speaking.

_It’s at times like this one discovers who one’s true friends are._

‘Good afternoon to you both. I was hoping to find you here – especially you Miss Granger,’ she said, her voice clipped. It was taking all of her willpower to retain the façade.

‘Hello, Professor,’ replied Hermione. ‘What is it you need to see me for?’

Minerva sat down across from her two students before continuing. ‘I have managed to track down Severus’ notes on how to brew the Wolfsbane Potion,’ she replied. ‘While the recipe is generally available to read, the potion is one of the most complicated to brew; so complicated that not many are willing to try. These notes are invaluable. Severus was perhaps the greatest Potion master of our age.’

The reaction to her words was predictable. Both teenagers sat up straighter, wide eyed.

‘How?’

‘Where?’

Minerva smiled. ‘One at a time. One at a time,’ she replied. She leaned back slightly in her chair. ‘I remembered that Severus used to keep a stock of the potion,’ she explained. So I had a good trawl through his old dungeon and managed to find his notes at the bottom of a chest of drawers. Severus had probably brewed it so often that he didn’t need the notes anymore.’

‘Snape?’ asked Harry. ‘Why did he have to brew it so often?’

Minerva suppressed another smile as she saw Hermione roll her eyes at the question. ‘If you have heard of the _1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct_ you would understand. Have you heard of it, Harry?’ she asked her friend without hope of a positive answer.

Harry considered the question. ‘As it happens, I have. It is the regulating act for werewolves although it _is_ a bit contradictory. As far as I remember, it doesn’t stipulate exactly whether a werewolf is a beast or a being because of the divided responsibilities of the Magical Creatures Department. Capturing them and registering them is done by the Beast division but support for them is done by the Being Department. I don’t see what this has to do with Snape’s Wolfesbane potion though.’

Both women stared agog at Harry’s remarks before sharing a look. It occurred to both that this must be recent knowledge because both women knew that Harry Potter simply did not listen in History of Magic classes. Minerva felt her resolve weaken a little further as she realised that he must have looked this up on discovering his friend had been bitten. She could tell by the hint of moisture in Hermione’s eyes that she too appreciated what Harry had been doing on her behalf.

‘It relates to Severus because part of the remit of the Magical Creatures Being Division is to provide support for werewolves. This support includes the supply of Wolfesbane Potion,’ Minerva replied.

‘So?’ asked Harry.

Both women rolled their eyes again.

‘So Severus Snape was probably the most gifted potion master in our world,’ replied Minerva. ‘The Ministry has responsibility for ensuring that werewolves have a sufficient supply of Wolfesbane potion. Severus would make them a batch every month.’

Harry conceded the point, remembering just how much his own Potions brewing had improved after he obtained the Half Blood Prince’s book. ‘This is great news,’ he finally replied.

‘That is true, Mr Potter. While we cannot help Miss Granger this month, I will do my best to ensure a fresh batch is brewed in time for next month.’ She turned to Hermione. ‘It isn’t perfect but it should help.’

Hermione nodded her gratitude. ‘So I…I might be able to stay in control?’ she asked.

Minerva nodded. ‘If it works then you will remain in control. You will still transform but I am led to believe that the effects are not as…severe.’ Her expression softened. ‘I wish I could do more but it is the best I can do for the moment.’

Hermione nodded. ‘You have done more than enough. It is the lack of control that really disturbs me. If I can retain my awareness then I think I can bear this.’

‘Good,’ replied Minerva in a clipped tone. ‘I shall make sure sufficient potion is made available for you next month. Until then, we shall just have to soldier on,’ she added, before turning and heading for the portrait hole. Her progress was stopped, however.

“Professor?”

Minerva stopped walking and turned to the voice. ‘Yes, Mr Potter?’

‘While we are on the subject of Hermione’s…affliction, do you mind if I ask something?’

‘Go ahead.’

‘It’s obvious now that Greyback was fully transformed when he bit Hermione. My question is simple; how? It wasn’t a full moon that night. He should not have been able to transform. So how did he do it?’

A long silence greeted this question before Minerva finally replied. ‘I have no idea, Harry. Neither does Hermione. We have discussed this between ourselves and have yet to come up with an explanation. Were it not for the fact that Hermione is indeed fully cursed, I would not have believed it possible.’

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘He escaped, didn’t he? Greyback, I mean. He got away?’

‘Certainly, we never located him either alive or dead after the battle,’ replied Minerva. ‘So one must assume that he did indeed escape.’

Harry looked grim. ‘We need to find him. I need to find him.’

‘You need to do no such thing!’ exclaimed Hermione. ‘Don’t you think you have already done enough? It’s up to the Ministry to find him, not you. Don’t you dare go looking for him, Harry!’ She was practically shouting as she said this.

Harry was surprised by the vehemence of her words and when he glanced at Minerva she too seemed a little taken aback. She soon recovered however.

‘I must say, Harry that I quite agree. Greyback is extremely dangerous and it is not your responsibility to hunt him. It must be left to the Aurors.’

‘If they are still interested,’ replied Harry. ‘Kingsley will have enough on his plate. If Greyback is sensible, he’ll lie low for a bit and the Ministry will ignore him for the moment. And I think we need to find him before they do.’

‘Why?’ asked Hermione, who seemed to have calmed down a bit.

‘Because the Aurors will have orders to shoot to kill if necessary,’ replied Harry quietly. ‘We cannot allow that to happen. He must be taken alive so we can question him. We must find out how he can transform at will.’

‘Is it really that important, Harry?’ asked Minerva. ‘While I too am extremely curious, I would not be willing to risk anyone getting hurt by insisting on taking him alive.’

Harry looked at his teacher and friend thoughtfully. He could tell from the fact that Hermione had gone quiet that she fully understood where he was coming from, so he was surprised that Minerva had not made the leap. ‘It is that important. If he can change into a fully formed Werewolf at will, then it stands to reason that he can change back too. He was seen in both forms that night. What if he can do this when it is a full moon? What if he’s discovered how to control his lycanthropy?’

The headmistress gasped. ‘Impossible, Harry. Greyback could never have achieved such a feat. Some of the best witches and wizards have been studying this subject for years with no success. And it took Damocles Belby years to come up with the Wolfsbane potion and that is considered the most significant breakthrough in this area. Greyback could not have achieved this.’

‘Perhaps not,’ replied Harry. ‘But Voldemort might have. It’s why we need to find Greyback. He might be the one who can help Hermione.’ He turned to his dearest friend as he said this and for the first time in a while he saw a genuine smile on her face as the truth of his words hit home.

_Things were looking up for once._

oOoOoOoOoOo

Ron Weasley sat on his bed in the seventh year dormitory and gazed out of the window, his eyes fixed upon the brilliance of the full moon. He knew that Harry was lying awake too but neither seemed to be in a mood for discussion at the moment and he had to admit that he was pleased that this was the case. They had once again accompanied Hermione to her cell but – once again – had been forced to stand outside in the corridor and await the worst.

_But at least there was cause for hope now._

He _knew_ Hermione. Really knew her. While they had fought and argued over the years there was no denying the regard they held for each other – a regard that had developed into something he had long dreamed of but had never hoped to achieve. He knew about her intelligence and her compassion and her integrity and loyalty. But he also knew that she was something of a control freak. That she hated it when something could not be explained using logic and reason.

And he reckoned that of all the issues one faced when cursed like she was, the lack of control would be the hardest thing for her to deal with. In this respect he was more grateful than anyone would ever appreciate that Minerva had located Snape’s notes on brewing the potion. While he didn’t think he could ever forgive Snape for the years of hell at Hogwarts, he could at least acknowledge that possession of these notes meant that their chances of successfully brewing effective potion had greatly increased.

He sighed and leaned back against his pillow. When he thought back to her response to his question in the infirmary he found himself feeling a touch apprehensive. She had astonished him with her brief demonstration of her new abilities and if he was honest with himself, he had to admit that it freaked him out a bit. He believed that he loved Hermione but he knew that the prospect of having a girlfriend who could literally sense his every mood was a bit disconcerting. It wasn’t that he had anything to hide; rather it was a case that he believed that everyone was entitled to some secrets and the thought that she would know when he was nervous or worried or – well; anything really – caused him a degree of anxiety.

_Which she will be able to sense too_ , he thought with a rueful smile.

He had meant every word when he had told her that her condition changed nothing. He knew that the curse was not her fault; that she remained Hermione despite the changes she faced every month. He also knew that he would need to make some adjustments for her but he didn’t mind. She was his girlfriend and he would need to adjust.

_But how far are you willing to go?_ asked a nasty little voice in his head. _What if she can’t adjust?_

He sat up abruptly and cursed himself for such thoughts. This was the key issue, he knew.

_What if we can’t adjust to fit each other?_

‘Are you OK, mate?’

Ron turned to the source of the question, a startled look on his face which disappeared when he saw Harry eyeing him with concern.

‘It’s just that you moved a bit…sudden, that’s all,’ continued Harry.

Ron smiled. ‘I’m fine. I just have a lot on my mind.’

Harry smiled back. ‘I know what you mean,’ he replied. ‘Exactly what you mean,’ he added softly. A moment of silence passed before Harry spoke further. ‘I’m going back to Grimmauld Place tomorrow.’

Ron sat up straighter. ‘You are? Why? Hermione still has another night!’

Harry grimaced. ‘I know that, you idiot. But we aren’t achieving anything here, are we? We can’t help her when she’s in that dungeon and I feel like I’m getting in the way.’

‘In the way of what?’ asked Ron.

Harry rolled his eyes. ‘In the way of you and Hermione. You need some time together alone without me being the third wheel. The two of you will have things to sort out.’

Ron reddened. ‘Oh! Right. That…yeah. Right.’ He looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Are you sure? She’s your friend too.’

‘I know. But she’s your girlfriend. Trust me, Ron; you need time alone together. That’s why I’m leaving – to give you that time.’

Harry watched as his words finally got through to his friend and he saw Ron nod as he conceded the logic. Deciding that he wasn’t in the mood for more chat, he turned away from his friend and gazed out of the window, hoping that Ron wouldn’t cock things up with Hermione and hurt her again. His heart was in the right place but all too often his brain was AWOL.

He had made the decision to leave a few hours earlier and he hoped Hermione would understand when he told her in the morning. It wasn’t that he wanted to go it was more a case that he needed to go for the sake of his friends. He really was getting in the way as he and Hermione had been spending so much time together that it must be affecting Ron.

He suspected that Hermione would understand his motives. He smiled to himself. She would probably be able to understand a lot more about him now that she had her new gifts. It was an aspect of lycanthropy that he had never considered – one that Remus had never discussed – and he found himself in awe of Hermione’s new talents. If there was anything good – any silver lining to the catastrophe that had occurred then it was surely Hermione’s new abilities. To be able to sense what people are feeling; to be able to “read” them and understand them and to be able to use this understanding to help them was a wonderful thing in his view. While he would readily admit that the price of this gift was far, far too high he still believed that Hermione was the type of person who could use these talents to help others.

_I will have no secrets from her!_ He smiled at the thought, aware that this could bring him even closer to his dear friend. She had always been good at reading his moods but now she would be able to do it with ease and he found himself taking comfort in that thought. What had happened was a disaster, of that there was no doubt. But if he could cling to one crumb of comfort then it would be this; the fact that her lycanthropy might deepen his friendship with her.

With that comforting thought on an otherwise bleak night, he lay back in bed and closed his eyes before drifting off to sleep.


	9. The Elephant

Harry glanced at his watch and sighed with impatience. He was sitting at the kitchen table in the Burrow and although he was accompanied by Ron, neither man spoke a word to each other. Both were on tenterhooks.  
  
 _Hermione was late.  
  
_ It was very unlike her to be tardy and he was feeling a touch anxious about her safety. It had been nearly three weeks since he had last seen her and in those weeks he had spent a lot of time thinking about his friend and what she was dealing with. It seemed strange to not have her beside him after living in each others pockets for so long and he had struggled to adjust to her absence. Quite simply, he missed her.  
  
Two days after she had returned from Hogwarts she had announced her intention to depart for Australia in order to contact her parents and bring them home. He understood fully. While Molly and Arthur treated her as one of their own, he knew that she would be deeply missing her mum and dad and that she probably needed them now more than ever. Knowing his friend, she would be harbouring feelings of guilt about having to send them away, not to mention the small detail of having performed a memory charm on them. He understood fully why she had done this and he would be grateful to her until the day he died but he was deeply concerned about how her parents would react when the truth was revealed. Hermione needed her family but would they be able to forgive and forget so easily?

_Or in this case, forgive and remember._  
  
He had wanted to go with her. So had Ron but she had absolutely insisted that she go alone. He understood this too but had not been happy with her decision. He knew that she needed some time alone to process everything that had happened to her and that the trip to Australia would grant her this time but he had still wanted to go with her and had been unable to hide his disappointment when she had refused.  
  
 _‘I need to do this on my own, Harry. I need to be on my own. Can you understand this?’  
  
_ He could and he did understand and he accepted her decision without further comment even though he was not happy about it.  
  
Ron hadn’t been quite so…accommodating.  
  
He thought he was used to the bickering of his two closest friends but the argument they’d had over Hermione’s decision made all previous fights seem like mere skirmishes in comparison. Ron had hit the roof and the repercussions of the argument were still being felt. Ron had tried to drag him into the argument in order to persuade Hermione to accept her boyfriend’s company on the trip but he had flatly refused to be drawn into the dispute. He had said his piece; had said that he would not take sides in the argument; that he would prefer it if Hermione did not go alone but that the decision was hers to make and he would respect that decision – whatever it turned out to be.  
  
The smile she had bestowed on him when he had said this had been breathtaking. Unfortunately; Ron’s countenance had not been quite so benevolent. To put it mildly, “Mount Ron” had erupted and the aftershocks were still being felt.  
  
Ron had initially directed his ire towards Hermione, and Harry had left them to it. The new dynamic to their relationship had made the ensuing argument none of his business and so he had beaten a hasty retreat in order to stay well out of it. He had not heard much of what was said but had managed to pick out a few words when the voices had been raised in anger.  
  
“Boyfriend,” “good enough” and “Harry” had been just a few of the words he had heard Ron say on more than one occasion and he had wondered at the time why he was being dragged into it. “Selfish,” “insensitive” and “thoughtless” were just three of the words he could remember Hermione responding with. When the door to the living room had finally swung open, Hermione had hastened past him with tears of frustration smarting in her eyes. Ron’s face had been like thunder and his red-haired friend had then turned his anger on the nearest available target.  
  
 _Which just happened to be me, he thought ruefully.  
  
_ As a result, the parting with Hermione the next day had been a fraught affair. She had decided to see him alone and it had occurred to him that this was to prevent Ron from marring their farewells with an ugly scene  
  
 _‘You take care of yourself. Just get in touch if you need me for anything – anything at all.’ He noticed the emotion in her eyes at these words before he continued. ‘I’m not going to take sides between you and Ron – you need to sort that out amongst yourselves. But I want you to know that I’m here whenever you need me – and even when you don’t.’  
  
‘Thanks, Harry. For everything,’ she replied, drawing him into an embrace. When they parted she hesitated before continuing ‘I was worried that you would be angry with me and take Ron’s side. I thought Ron would try to use you to gang up on me.’  
  
‘I won’t lie to you, Hermione. I’d rather I or Ron was going with you but I respect your decision and I’m not angry with you - just concerned. And don’t worry about “taking sides.” If Ron had asked me to gang up on you I’d have hexed him. No matter what, I’ll be here for you when you get back.’  
  
She smiled at his words and embraced him again and it was just at that moment that Ron had entered the room. The scowl that was already on his face deepened further but he said nothing. Harry ignored him and gently prised himself away from Hermione.  
  
‘Take care. I’ll miss you’ had been his last words to her before she left.  
  
_Once she’d gone he’d had a few words for Ron too. A few choice words that had needed to be said.  
  
 _“Don’t ever ask me to take sides when you two are fighting. If you ever do then I’ll immediately take her side; do you understand me?’  
  
Ron had flared at these words. ‘Bloody typical! I might have known you’d pick her! The two of you are…”  
  
‘Don’t say another word. I’m sick of this, Ron and I’m sick of you. It’s about time you grew up. Hermione needs your support more than anyone and the sooner you realise this, the better! For what it’s worth, if she ever asked me to take sides against you then I would have said the same to her. If she had asked that I would have taken your side.”  
  
_He’d stormed away after delivering this verdict and had been uncomfortably aware that his last statement was most certainly a lie. He couldn’t imagine taking anyone’s side against Hermione.

For a few hours things had been cool between Ron and himself before they finally resolved the issue. Harry smiled to himself. _Resolved indeed_. They had dealt with it much as any two teenage boys would have dealt with it. They had pretended that it never happened.  
  
Now as they both awaited Hermione’s arrival it seemed that they were both too preoccupied for conversation. Harry found himself quite content with this state of affairs as he had a lot on his mind at the moment and was wondering when he would have an opportunity to speak to Hermione in private. For one thing, he had in his possession something that she might find extremely useful.  
  
With these thoughts, he placed his hand into his pocket and felt reassured as he ran his hand along the binding of the small pocket book that had come into his possession. He had received it with some trepidation from Kingsley when he and Andromeda had finally answered the Minster’s request for a meeting.

_It was Remus’ diary._

A diary that he’d started at a young age after being cursed by the bite from Feynir Greyback. A diary that explained in great detail everything his teacher and friend had to deal with as a result of that curse. He had pored over it since receiving it and had felt his excitement grow as he had come to realise just how useful this little book would be to Hermione as she struggled to come to terms with her condition.

He could not wait to give it to her.

It had saddened him though; saddened him on two counts. The first was that it was practically the only material possession that Remus Lupin had left as a legacy to the world. When Kingsley had explained that he and Andromeda were appointed trustees Harry had not realised just how little Remus had left in trust. A few pieces of jewellery; some books; some financially worthless family heirlooms. As Kingsley had explained, anything of material value had been sold a long time ago in order to enable Remus to live. The key request from his departed friend - the real meaning of “trustee” - was the request that Harry and Andromeda bring up Teddy as if he was their own.

It was not really a request. To a person of honour it was a demand; an obligation. Harry was glad he had already made up his mind about Teddy before hearing Remus’ request from beyond the grave. He was Teddy’s Godfather; Remus had trusted him with that honour when both men knew that there was a good chance the role would prove to be more than the mere ceremonial role it was for most people. Just as Sirius had eventually been able to mentor Harry, so too would he be there to mentor Teddy. To do otherwise would be to spit on the memory of a dear friend.

It was after this announcement that Kingsley had mentioned the diary. For some reason, he had stipulated that Harry hold it in trust until Teddy came of age. Obviously Moony had wanted his son to know something of his father and this diary just might prove to be a window into Remus’ life. Harry believed that it had been entrusted to him in the meantime because of the frequent mentions of his parents and of Sirius. Remus would have known just how much he yearned for information about his lost family and this diary had gone a long way to slaking this thirst. His old friend could not have foreseen how much of a Godsend it would be to both him and to Hermione. It was almost as if it were fated to happen.

He shook himself free of these thoughts as he heard a sudden roaring from the fireplace. Someone was flooing in to the Burrow.

_Hermione._

He got to his feet and it was with a feeling of joy that he watched his best friend materialise in the flames and step out of the grate onto the rug in front of the fire. He thought he caught a troubled look in her eye before her countenance broke into a beaming smile. He returned this with a smile of his own. No matter what was troubling her, they would soon sort it out. For the moment, everything was all right once again.

_Hermione was back._

oOoOoOoOoOo

So how are they, dear?’ asked Minerva McGonagall as she took a sip of her tea and regarded the young woman sitting in the comfy armchair across the desk from her.

Hermione also enjoyed a sip of tea as she took a moment to consider the question. ‘Confused. Muddled.’ She paused for a second as she placed her cup and saucer on the desk. ‘ _Angry_.’

‘Angry?’ asked Minerva. ‘With you?’

Hermione nodded. ‘Yes; with me.’ She sighed. ‘They can’t remember very much. It was the first time I had ever _Obliviated_ anyone and I don’t know how effective it was. I’m amazed that they can remember anything; I always thought that memory charms were irreversible.’

Minerva nodded. ‘They are irreversible but you didn’t entirely wipe their memories, did you?’  
  


‘No; I just tried to remove all traces of the magical world. And of me. It took me weeks to find out how to do that. When I showed up in their surgery in Australia I could tell that my face was familiar to them. It hurt to see them like that; they were looking at me as if I was some distant acquaintance. It took me some time to explain who I was – I had taken loads of pictures and letters and stuff to prove I was telling the truth. Then they started to remember snippets; my presence seemed to act like a trigger.’

‘How much do they remember?’ asked Minerva.

  
‘More than I thought they would. They remember that they had a previous life and they can remember most things about it but they are still a bit vague about me and my magic.’

‘That is understandable,’ replied Minerva. ‘For all of your talents, dear, this was your first attempt at a memory charm. I’m surprised it worked as well as it did.’

Hermione grimaced. ‘I wish it hadn’t worked quite so well. Then they might have remembered more about the danger they were in. I’m not sure they fully appreciate how great the threat was. That’s why they are so angry.’

‘Because they think you wiped their memories unnecessarily?’

Hermione shook her head. ‘No; because I cursed them without asking them. I made the decision for them. They are angry because I took away their choice.’

Minerva placed her own cup carefully on the desk in front of her. ‘You had to decide for them. There was no choice!’  
  


‘I know! And If I had let them decide then they wouldn’t have left!’ exclaimed Hermione. ‘They would have stayed and they would have been targets for Voldemort. I couldn’t take the chance on their stubbornness. They are stubborn, you know.’

  
Minerva raised an eyebrow at this remark and hid a smile. ‘Really?’ she asked innocently, her eyes wide. ‘The parents of Hermione Granger are stubborn? I wouldn’t have credited that.’  
  


Despite the situation, Hermione smiled at the remark. ‘Fair comment,’ she replied ruefully. ‘Do you understand why I did it though?’

  
‘I do, Hermione; perhaps better than you realise. But you must try to understand them too. It will take time but they are your parents and they will remember everything about you eventually and I am sure they still love you. So do not lose heart. Where are they now?’  
  


‘At home,’ she replied quietly, wondering if she would ever be able to fully reconcile with her parents. She picked up her cup again and glanced out of the window, oblivious of the sympathy and concern with which Minerva was regarding her.  
  


It had been a near impossible three weeks. Having travelled to the other side of the world she hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect but the look in the eyes of her parents when they saw her - that expression of recognising but not being able to place the name - had hurt her more than she’d thought possible. It had taken her hours to convince them of the truth and even when she had made a breakthrough; when she had seen the faint spark of recognition and memory in their eyes, the shutters had quickly come down and the anger and outrage at her actions had burst forth.   
  


It had not been a pleasant trip. And once her parents had learned something of their old life they had decided that they wanted to return to Britain. They remembered just enough about her to be angry yet not quite enough to fully understand why she’d acted as she did.

  
All in all, things could have gone better.  
  


Now that they were back in Britain she felt as if she was making some progress with them. She had explained as best she could just about everything that had happened and had tried her best to make them understand why it had been necessary to curse them in the first place. She _was_ getting through to them. When she had explained what Voldemort had done and what he would have done had they remained unprotected, they had accepted - to an extent - that she was not entirely to blame.  
  


Now they blamed Harry instead.

  
‘So what now, dear? Have you told them of your…condition?’  
  


Hermione shook her head and turned her attention back to the woman sitting across from her. Despite her concerns, she smiled warmly. The regard and affection she had for Minerva McGonagall was too great to quantify. Her teacher was everything she hoped to be; independent, intelligent, brave, resourceful and decisive. It did not occur to her that Minerva saw these qualities within her already.  
  


‘No. I didn’t tell them. I figured things would be hard enough without telling them I was a monster.’  
  


‘You are not a monster, dear.’  
  


‘I am for three days a month.’  
  


‘Aren’t we all?’ Minerva replied with a mischievous smile. Her expression sobered. ’It was wise not to tell them for now but you will have to inform them sooner or later. You know this?’  
  


Hermione nodded her head. ‘I know this. I just need to wait until the opportunity presents itself.’  
  


Minerva nodded her understanding. ‘So, where to next?’  
  


‘Back to the Burrow. I will be going there as soon as I finish this cuppa.’ She glanced at her watch. ’In fact, I’m late as it is. I really should get going.’ She got to her feet, slightly on edge. If she was honest with herself, she was worried about seeing Ron and Harry again. It was why she had elected to see Minerva first. For her part, Professor McGonagall seemed to sense her discomfort.

  
‘Is everything all right, Hermione? There are no problems between you and your friends are there?’  
  


Hermione smiled ruefully. ‘I hope not. Ron wasn’t too pleased when I announced I would be going to Australia on my own.’  
  


‘You and Mr Weasley…you are an item?’ asked Minerva, tentatively.  
  


Hermione nodded absently. ‘We are...at least we were before I left. I’m not sure anymore. I just hope Ron isn’t still angry.’  
  


‘I’m sure he won’t be,’ replied Minerva quietly. Hermione detected an…oddness in her tone but couldn’t quite place what it was.  
  


‘And what of Harry?’ asked Minerva. ‘Was he angry with you too?’  
  


Hermione smiled at the question. ‘No; Harry was never angry. He wasn’t happy I was going alone but he understood why I needed to go myself. He always understands.’  
  


Minerva nodded at the remark. ‘He does. I am glad you appreciate it. When you see him, pass on my regards. I have not seen too much of him lately. No one has. I understand he is trying to keep a low profile until the hype surrounding him finally disappears.’ Her grim expression revealed what she thought of Harry’s chance of success in this: none whatsoever.  
  


‘Is he all right?’ Hermione asked, the concern evident.

‘He’s fine. Kreacher assures me he is fine. Apparently he has a new project that is keeping him occupied.’

  
‘He does? Any ideas what it is?’ Hermione asked.  
  


Minerva smiled. ‘A few,’ she replied cryptically. ‘A few. In the meantime, you had best depart and see your friends again. They will be worried.’ She stood and approached Hermione and surprised them both by embracing the younger woman.

  
‘My door is always open to you. Always,’ she repeated.  
  


Hermione returned the embrace. ‘I know. And thank you.’ She stood back from her friend and gave her a warm smile before stepping into the fireplace. Taking a pinch of Floo powder from a small pot she raised her hand. She glanced at Minerva.

  
‘I’ll be in touch. Thanks for everything.’  
  


Minerva acknowledged these words with a nod. Before she could reply, Hermione acted and in one smooth motion scattered the powder into the flames.  
  


‘The Burrow!’  
  


oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry held back as Hermione stepped out of the fireplace and he watched as her expression changed to one of joy. He wasn’t entirely sure what he had seen on her face before she had smiled but he felt a niggling sensation that it did not bode well for the future. He was almost certain she had looked worried. Now as he stood and gazed upon her, he became aware of a sudden awkwardness in the room. He glanced across at Ron and noticed that his red-haired friend was hanging back too. Harry closed his eyes and grimaced.

‘Did I do something wrong?’ asked Hermione and Harry could detect a hint of mischief in her voice. She was glancing from one friend to the other with an amused expression on her face. It was not long however, before he noticed the corners of her mouth begin to turn down as her question went unanswered. He glanced over at Ron once again and wondered how anyone could be so thick.

_For Merlin’s sake, Ron. Say something! Do something! Anything!_

His unspoken plea was finally answered as Ron seemed to waken from a trance. He glanced furtively at Harry before awkwardly stepping forward.

‘Hi, Hermione,’ Ron mumbled. ‘It’s...er…great to have you back. Did you have a nice trip?’

Harry rolled his eyes and it took all of his willpower not to hold his head in his hands. The word “teaspoon” suddenly leapt unbidden into his mind. He was beginning to wonder how this would play out but had his curiosity satisfied before it had time to take shape. Hermione had obviously decided to go easy on Ron. For the moment, anyway.

‘Thanks, Ron!’ she gushed as she launched herself at him and embraced him tight. Harry noticed Ron look surprised by the gesture before an expression of relief flashed across his face. Ron tentatively placed his arms around Hermione and held her, patting her back as if she were a dog, Harry thought to himself. He suppressed a grin and waited for his friends to separate. When they did and Hermione turned to face him he surprised them both by suddenly wrapping himself around her and lifting her off her feet.

‘Do you have any idea how good it is to see you?’ he asked her, his voice hoarse, his breath hot in her ear. ‘I have never been so happy to see anyone in my entire life,’ he added as he squeezed her tight before placing her feet back on the floor. It occurred to him as soon as he said this that it was an absolute truth. He really couldn’t recall being happier to see anyone. He stepped back from her with a grin on his face and took her hands in his own and saw her face light up in a smile.

‘Me too!’ she gasped. ‘Me too! It’s so good to see you again,’ she added with a look of sheer delight. Then her features changed slightly as something suddenly occurred to her. ‘To see both of you,’ she added hastily, turning to Ron. ‘I missed you both.’

An awkward silence followed this statement and Harry found himself wondering why they were all so uncomfortable with one another when he noticed Ron staring at his hands – the hands that were still holding Hermione’s tightly. He hastily released his grip and stepped back, flushing as he did so.

‘Well…I think I had best leave you two to it. I’m sure you have a lot to catch up on. It should just have been Ron here waiting to greet you – I could have caught up with you later. I’ll let you two have some time to yourselves to catch up.’

‘There’s no need, Harry!’ Hermione exclaimed and she reached out and grabbed his hand as if trying to stop him from leaving. He glanced down at her fingers and suddenly became really aware of everything that was passing between the three of them. Aware of his own racing heartbeat; aware of Ron awkwardly shuffling his feet as he looked at the ground; and finally, he was aware of Hermione’s quick breathing. He noticed that her face had reddened and noticed too that Ron’s face had also flushed but he suspected this was not out of embarrassment.

‘Yes there is,’ he finally replied. ‘There is every need. You two have…a lot of catching up to do. I’ll just get in the way.’ He smiled before continuing. ‘Don’t worry; I’ll see you both later – I have a few things to tell you. But for now I think it best if I just leave,’ he added hastily as he gently released her grip on him and quickly headed for the door. He had been aware of an elephant in the room from the moment Hermione had stepped out of the fireplace.

It was only now that he realised that he was the elephant.


	10. Voices From the Past

Ron watched his best friend close the door behind him and finally turned to face Hermione.

_Alone._

He didn’t know what he was feeling right now. Or even how he was supposed to be feeling. He had watched Harry receive Hermione with the welcome he should have given her and his resentment had boiled to the surface. He had found himself being irrationally jealous of Harry recently and his friend’s latest intimate moment with Hermione had only served to pour fuel on that particular fire. But part of him knew that Harry was not at fault. That the issues lay only with himself.

He had always harboured suspicions that Hermione had feelings for Harry and vice-versa and it was only recently that these fears had been allayed. After all, Harry had told him that he only loved Hermione as a sister.

_And then she kissed me! Me! So why do I get angry when I see them hold each other like that! They are friends! Why wouldn’t they hug each other?_

He closed his eyes for a moment, recalling something Harry had said the day Hermione had left for Australia. Maybe his friend was correct.

_Maybe it is about time I grew up._

He opened his eyes again and looked at his friend – hopefully still his girlfriend. He noticed that she had an apprehensive expression on her face and he came to a realisation.

‘I’m sorry,’ he began. He noticed a look of surprise flash across her face at his words.

‘You’re sorry?’ she asked.

‘Yeah. I’m sorry. For a lot of things. For fighting with you before you left. For not respecting your decision to go alone.’ He sighed. ‘For being angry with you for three bloody weeks. For not supporting you like I said I would. For not welcoming you home properly. In short; for being a complete arse. Can you forgive me? Can we start again?’

He thought he saw a moment’s hesitation in her eyes before she finally replied.

‘Of course I forgive you,’ she said softly, but before she allowed herself to be drawn into an embrace she held her hand up to forestall him. ‘I can forgive you, Ron, but I am wondering how often we will need to go through this sort of thing? How often are we going to argue and how often am I going to have to forgive you – or you forgive me? Before I am willing to start again, I want to know if this is going to be a regular occurrence. There are going to be times when I do something you don’t like and vice-versa. I need to know you are not going to go off on one the way you did before I left just because you were not getting your own way. I accept that we will not always agree and that there will be times when we will argue, but I will not accept you throwing your toys out of the pram every time things don’t go the way you want. We need to be able to discuss our differences without losing our tempers – at least some of the time. We argued enough as friends, Ron; I don’t want to be fighting all the time with my boyfriend. Can you understand that?’

Ron took a deep breath as he tried to contain his initial anger at her words. ‘I can understand that, Hermione, perhaps better than you think. Harry told me that I need to grow up and I guess he is right. I promise that I will do my best to understand your point of view whenever we disagree and I’ll try not to get angry. I don’t know what else I can say.’

‘You don’t need to say anything else,’ she replied quietly. ‘That’s all I am asking for, Ron; that you respect me and do your best to respect my decisions. Let’s try and start again; let’s pretend that we never had that argument.’ She leaned forward as she said this and allowed herself to be drawn into his embrace. Ron held her tight, relieved and contented both and considered himself the luckiest man alive.

For her part, Hermione allowed herself to be held but wondered why she did not feel anywhere near as good as she did when Harry had held her a few moments before. A sudden thought flashed into her mind as she considered this.

_What if Ron’s best isn’t good enough?_

It was a horrible thought but one she could not avoid. All throughout Sixth Year and even during the search for the Horcruxes she believed that this was everything she had hoped for – that she and Ron would end up together. Despite their many fights over the years, despite the terrible things he had said to her at times, she had come to believe that Ron was the one for her and that they would end up together. But now she was beginning to wonder because she did not want a relationship where she was fighting all the time. She had always told herself that her fights with Ron was due to them both being confused by their mixed feelings for each other – the “friends or something more” problem. She’d believed that once their relationship was out in the open, these tensions would disappear and they would settle down. Ron’s reaction to her going to Australia had made her question this logic. Even now after he had promised her that he would do his best she found herself strangely restless rather than relieved.

_What if Ron’s best isn’t good enough?_

As she stood in his arms she found she didn’t know the answer to that question.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Just over an hour later, Harry gently rapped on the door of Ron’s bedroom and waited a few moments until he heard the familiar tones of his best mate.

‘Who is it?’

Harry smiled. ‘Me, you stupid git! Can I come in?’

‘Of course you can come in, Harry,’ interjected Hermione, a touch of asperity in her voice. As he reached for the door handle he heard some urgent hissing coming from his friends too. He suppressed a smile and entered the room.

The scene that greeted him was not what he had expected. For one thing, the room was tidy and he suspected that a few words had been exchanged between Ron and Hermione because when he had been in the room to see Ron earlier in the day it had not looked so…ordered. Earlier today it had borne all the hallmarks of a Weasley man; untidy and disorganised.

The other aspect of the little tableau had been the fact that his two friends were sitting on different beds and at opposite ends and he wondered about that. _Surely they are not doing this for my benefit?_ He had suspected for a while that Ron and Hermione might finally become a couple but he hadn’t actually thought about how they would behave around him once they did. He also wasn’t sure how successful their reconciliation had been and he now found himself wondering if they were still together. But their behaviour was starting to irk him just a little; had he known that they would act so silly, he might have done more to stop the relationship starting in the first place.

_Now why did I think that?_

‘What’s the matter, Harry?’

Harry shook himself back into the moment when he heard Hermione’s question. He regarded his two friends for a moment before grabbing the chair by the window and very deliberately placing it between the two beds. Glancing up, he caught a faint look of grim amusement on Hermione’s face and it occurred to him that she knew exactly why he had placed the chair where he had. A quick glance at Ron told him that his other friend was oblivious to his motives. He sighed heavily before sitting down and placing his hand in his pocket.

‘When you were away,’ he began, looking directly at Hermione, ‘I had a meeting with Kingsley and Andromeda.’ He noticed her expression soften and he realised that she knew why such a meeting had taken place.

‘When did you meet with Kingsley?’ asked Ron indignantly. ‘You never told me about that!’

Harry turned to his red-haired friend and sighed. ‘There was nothing to tell, Ron,’ he replied. ‘At least, nothing to tell that couldn’t wait until now. We weren’t exactly on the best of terms, were we?’ He ignored the sudden flush that appeared on Ron’s face at the gentle rebuke and continued. ‘Besides, I wanted Hermione to hear this first because it affects her more than anyone. It didn’t seem right to tell you when she wasn’t here.’

‘Tell him what?’ asked Hermione. She leaned forward and he could see the confusion on her face. ‘I am assuming that you met with Kingsley and Andromeda to discuss Remus’ Will?’ she asked.

Harry nodded.

‘So where do I fit into this?’ Hermione continued. ‘Much as I liked and admired Remus, I fail to see why his Will would affect me.’

Harry licked his lips before replying as he decided how best to proceed. Finally he decided to come straight to the point. He looked her straight in the eye. ‘It affects you because of this,’ he said as he held Remus’ journal up in his hand.

‘What’s that?’ asked Ron.

Harry did not turn to face him. Instead, he watched Hermione’s expression change from confusion to one of understanding.

And then to one of hunger. _She knows_.

‘It’s Remus’ journal,’ he replied without taking his eyes off Hermione. ‘It details everything he knew about lycanthropy. Everything he ever experienced. Every full moon. Every change he underwent. It provides names of other werewolves that he knew and liked and describes what he had to deal with when growing up.’ His voice thickened as he spoke. ‘He mentions my mum and dad a lot. And Sirius. It’s his whole life.’

‘Why did he leave it to you?’ asked Ron and Harry cursed his friends obtuseness. It was evident from the expression on Hermione’s face that she knew why he now held this book and it was obvious too that she understood the significance of it.

‘He didn’t leave it to me,’ he finally replied, his voice even. ‘He left it to Teddy but I am his Trustee. My job is to keep it safe until Teddy is of age.’

‘And can anyone else read it?’ asked Hermione and Harry could sense the longing in her voice.

‘Better than that,’ he replied with a smile. ‘I asked Andromeda if I could make a copy for myself. She said yes,’ he added, holding up a second book. ‘This one is for you but don’t let Andromeda know. She thinks I want a copy because it mentions my parents.’

‘Oh, Harry! This is wonderful!’ she exclaimed and threw herself at him, almost knocking him off the chair. He laughed out loud at her reaction and squeezed her tight before pulling back and looking into her eyes.

‘Just don’t tell Andromeda. She’ll kill me,’ he said softly before passing her a copy of the journal.

‘My lips are sealed,’ Hermione replied, her arms still around his neck and Harry could detect something in her voice that he hadn’t heard for some time.

_Hope._

He felt a sudden rush of affection for her at that moment and pulled her into another embrace.

_Maybe things would be all right after all._

oOoOoOoOoOo

Ron wasn’t happy. For once his appetite deserted him and as he sat idly poking and prodding at the sausages on his breakfast plate he wondered if such sudden changes in mood were to be his lot in life if he was to be the boyfriend of Hermione Granger. Less than twenty-four hours ago his joy and relief at seeing her again had overcome the anger and resentment he’d been harbouring since her departure for Australia. He’d been sincere in his apologies to her and had felt a weight fall from his shoulders as his girlfriend had accepted his apology and had welcomed his embrace. His lingering anger at Harry had disappeared too and he’d felt a bit ashamed at his behaviour. None of this was Harry’s fault; his best mate wasn’t deliberately trying to make him feel like a third wheel; an outsider in the company of his girlfriend. Harry was not trying to undermine him.

_It just feels that way sometimes_ , he thought to himself. _Like right now._

He had hardly seen either Hermione or Harry since the latter had produced that damn journal of Remus'. From the moment Harry had presented Hermione with her copy he had once again felt like an outsider; a third wheel in the group. He had smiled at first when she had embraced Harry but then he had found himself feeling bitter. It was almost as if there were two Ron Weasleys; each battling for supremacy inside his head.

_She always seems too touchy-feely with Harry._

_But she’s your girlfriend._

_So why is she always hugging Harry then?_

_Because they are best friends._

_They seem closer than best friends._

_They are closer than best friends, you idiot! He loves her like a sister, remember? Or have you forgotten that night already?_

_Oh, yeah…_

Ron shook himself out of the mental gymnastics that were going on in his head. He had forgotten about Harry’s remark which was stupid, really, because it meant that he had nothing to worry about. He knew that a man did not think about his sister in certain ways because it was just…wrong. Sick.

_But she’s not really his sister..._

‘Something on your mind?’

Ron turned, flushed at the voice. Ginny. She _picks her moments_ , he thought with a rueful shake of the head. He turned to _his_ sister, noticing that she seemed relaxed as she leaned against the kitchen wall, her arms folded.

‘No; not really. I’m just being…my usual stupid self.’

Ginny’s eyes twinkled at the remark. ‘What? Again? What is it this time?’

Ron felt a flickering of resentment, both at the tone and the substance of his sister’s question. Then he relaxed; this wasn’t Ginny’s fault. Besides; she would probably understand better than anyone. But he did find himself wondering why she was in such a good mood – she had been very down since Harry had finally broken things off with her.

‘I was just thinking about Harry and Hermione,’ he finally offered.

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah. I was just thinking that they seem to spend a lot of time in each other’s company. That they enjoy spending time with each other a little too much.’

Ginny nodded. ‘I notice that they are closeted up again this morning; both of them have a book. Do you know what they are up to?’

Ron nodded. ‘Yeah. But I can’t tell you. Not yet. Hermione will tell you when she’s ready.’

Ginny looked as if she was desperate to know but she managed to restrain herself. Instead, she returned to her original tack. ‘So, you are feeling left out? And a little worried that Hermione might prefer Harry?’ she asked.

Ron started in his chair. ‘Just come right out with it, why don’t you?’ He exclaimed. ‘Bloody hell, Ginny. At least try to be subtle.’

‘Why? It needs to be said, Ron. It is something you need to come to terms with or you will drive yourself crazy. Well; crazier,’ she added to take the sting out of her words.

‘What do you mean?’

Ginny sighed. ‘I mean Harry and Hermione have always been extremely close and probably always will be. And if you are serious about her then you have to accept that, or you will never be happy. And neither will she.’

‘And have you accepted this?’ Ron asked shrewdly.

Ginny hesitated. ‘I did. I had to.’ She finally sat down next to her brother. ‘I have to admit that it took some time.’ She sighed as she leaned back in the chair and Ron could tell that she was remembering. ‘When I was in fifth year I was jealous of Hermione. Even after I started seeing Harry I was still jealous of her. It’s why I was short with her on a few occasions. And when the three of you disappeared last year I was jealous again.’

‘Why?’ asked Ron, incredulous. ‘We were on the run!’

‘I know, Ron. But Hermione was with Harry and I wasn’t. It was only when I saw you all again that I knew.’

‘Knew what?’

‘Knew that I would have to trust them both or I would never be happy. It eats away at you, doesn’t it? _The wondering_. _Do they fancy each other? Are they more than mere friends?_ ’

Ron nodded.

‘Well; I had to learn trust Harry.’

‘Didn’t do you much good, did it?’ Ron cursed himself for his lack of tact as soon as the words left his mouth.

Ginny gave him a look that suggested she was about to disembowel him but then sighed. ‘I have accepted that if ever I want to have any chance of getting back together with Harry, I will also have to accept that he will always be very close with Hermione. I trust them both. I have also come to realise that the best chance I have of getting back together with Harry is if you don’t screw things up with Hermione. Once he sees how happy you two are, he’ll come back to me.’

It occurred to Ron why Ginny’s mood had improved. He hoped it wasn’t based on a delusion, but he also believed that his own prospects with Hermione would be improved if Harry and Ginny were dating again. ‘So, what do I do? I do trust them, but I just find it hard at times.’

‘Do you honestly think they would deliberately hurt us both like that?’ asked Ginny. ‘Do you really think they would go behind our backs?’

Ron shook his head. ‘No; I guess not.’ He took a deep breath before continuing. ‘I asked him, you know. Well; I sort of asked him. The issue came up. It’s complicated.’

‘Asked him what?’

‘Asked him if he had feelings for her.’

Ginny seemed to take an age to reply. ‘And?’ she finally managed.

‘And he told me that he loved her like a sister. That he thought I knew that he loved her like a sister.’ He turned and looked directly into Ginny’s eyes as he said this and saw the relief flash across her face.

_So, she does have her doubts, despite what she says._

‘Well; there you are then,’ Ginny finally managed. ‘He wouldn’t lie to you like that, would he?’

Ron didn’t hesitate. ‘No. He wouldn’t. Harry would never lie to me like that. Never.’

Both Weasley siblings shared a moment of peace at this observation.

‘So, what do we do then?’ asked Ron.

Ginny smiled enigmatically at the question. ‘Leave it with me, Ron. I have a few ideas that will make things better for both of us.’

Ron opened his mouth to reply before stopping himself and nodded his assent, deciding he didn’t want to know what these ideas involved.

_Sometimes ignorance really is bliss._

oOoOoOoOoOo

Upstairs, the musings were very, very different. Harry was completely oblivious to the concerns of both Ron and Ginny as he pored over the journal of Remus Lupin. Since it had come into his possession he had read and re-read the bits pertaining to his parents and Sirius and he had been ecstatic to discover several little details about them – especially about his father – that he had never heard before. When he had received the journal from Kingsley he had thought it a gift as it would be of use to Hermione. He had not even considered that it might be of emotional value to himself. He had learned all sorts of new information about his parents and their closest friends. He flicked back a few pages and stopped at a random date, smiling as he realised he had already discovered this particular passage. Reading it once again, he could recognise his former teacher and friend in the scribblings of a fourteen-year old boy.

_October 30 th 1974_

_A momentous day today, dear diary! I discovered today that I have friends for life in James and Sirius as they discovered my secret and did not abandon me. I don’t know what to think to be honest – I find myself trembling as I write. I have often wondered how they would react if they discovered the truth. Would they be disgusted? Fearful or cruel? I never expected them to be angry with me for not telling them sooner. I understand their anger now. They think I wasn’t willing to trust them, but I believe they know why I kept it from them. But their anger was short-lived. Sirius said he would flatten me were it not for the fact that I could snap him in two at the full moon and James said we would find a way to work around this as he reckoned I would make a good house pet. He said he would buy me a dog bowl and a rubber ball for my birthday…_

…Harry smiled as he read of his father’s reaction to Lupin’s revelation. It warmed his heart to realise that his father really was a good man; that even as a teenager he was willing to judge people on who they were and not by what they were. He didn’t know if people were born with such qualities or whether they were instilled into a child through example and education, but at that moment his heart was quite willing to believe that his own lack of prejudice was a legacy from his father.

_And his mother_. For she too was mentioned in the journal. She too was a part of Remus’ life.

_May 29 th 1977_

_They kissed! They finally kissed! And not before time. For the past few months I wouldn’t have wagered a single knut on whether Lily was more likely to punch him or kiss him, but she finally decided what to do. James has been walking around with an even more stupid smile on his face ever since and I wonder if he realises just what he has let himself in for…_

_…of course he does. He knows Lily is exceptional. She has been like a sister to me these past two years and one of the few who knows my secret. And she didn’t recoil! She took me for what I am and James had better realise how special she is or I will eat him alive – Prongs or otherwise._

_But he knows. I reckon those two are made for each other. I think everyone else believes the same because even the teachers were smiling at them today. Severus seemed to take exception to it all but then he takes exception to everything James and Sirius do. If it weren’t for the fact that he hates Muggleborns I would have said he had a thing for Lily, but that is an absurd notion as the prejudices of him and his House are well known…_

It was with mixed feelings that Harry gently closed the journal. His initial pleasure at reading about his mother and father was tempered by sadness as he considered the plight of Snape. He still hadn’t worked out his feelings for Snape and over these past weeks he had put them very much to the back of his mind. The pain and anguish the man had caused him for nigh on seven years was tempered by the admiration he now had for the man’s bravery.

And the sympathy he found himself feeling for him too. Snape had loved Lily Evans to his dying day and had done so despite the fact she loved a man he despised more than any other.

_Or was the reason he despised my father simply because she loved him?_

Whatever the reason, he understood the man more now than he had ever done. Snape had loved a woman who had loved another man. He had loved a Muggleborn – a woman he was taught to despise – and he had loved her so completely that he had gone against his own kind for her memory – even to death. Such actions could not be ignored; could not be blithely discarded. He could not bring himself to hate Snape any more as his hate seemed such a trivial thing in light of what Severus Snape had endured in his short life. Hating him now seemed a waste of effort. And the man did have redeeming qualities. His bravery for one thing. Harry still could not get his head around the cold courage Snape had demonstrated. Acting on the spur of the moment was one thing, but spontaneous bravery paled into insignificance in the face of the prolonged and pre-meditated courage that Snape would have required in order to deceive Voldemort for so long.

_And me. He deceived me. He deceived all of us for so many years._

Had he been told a few months ago that Severus Snape was in love with a Muggleborn, he knew he would have thought the teller mad. Snape had never – ever – shown anything but contempt for Muggleborns. He looked up from his reading and cast his glance over to his friend on the bed opposite and wondered. He watched as Hermione absently twiddled her hair as she read her copy of Remus’ journal and it occurred to him that Snape may have been so hard on her for far more complicated reasons than a mere dislike of Gryffindors. Having an extremely clever and attractive Muggleborn witch in his classroom must have brought back some dark memories.

_Especially when there was a male Potter in the class too._

He suddenly sat upright and reddened as Hermione lifted her head and looked right at him. She seemed to have this unerring knack of knowing when he was watching her and he briefly wondered if it was because of her new powers or whether she had always done this and he just hadn’t noticed. It occurred to him that he had taken her friendship for granted at times over the years. She had always been there for him when he had needed her – even when she had not agreed with him - and he knew that he had not always appreciated this loyalty as much as he should have. As he looked on his dearest friend he inwardly vowed to never do so again.

‘What?’ she asked, a hint of amusement in her tone.

‘Nothing,’ he found himself replying. He had not realised he had been staring for so long. ‘I was just wondering if the journal was of any use,’ he added by way of explanation.

Hermione nodded, knowing from his sudden, subtle change in tone and in his scent that he wasn’t being entirely truthful but knowing too that he was not concealing anything from her of importance. Whatever it was it was trivial and personal so she chose to ignore it. She smiled at him reassuringly and turned her attention back to the diary in her hand, aware that he was still staring at her and was still…uncomfortable about something. Whatever it was, he would tell her in his own time, she knew. Harry had always kept his feelings close to his chest and she found herself wondering if this was as a result of his upbringing with the Dursley’s or whether it was an innate characteristic. If it were the latter then she suspected that his reticence must come from his mother because it was clear from Remus’ journal that while James Potter had been a lot of things, reticent had not been one of them.

The journal truly was a gift. She found herself idly wondering if it was fate that was responsible for her receiving a copy. When Remus had written his Will, he could have had no idea how useful this particular legacy would be. But she dismissed the notion with a small shake of her head. If Fate truly was responsible, then Fate had decided that she was to be cursed. That she could not accept. She would not and could not accept that she had no control over her own destiny.

Sighing, she idly flipped through the pages as she sought a particular passage. It was one that had caught her attention when she had first read the journal and she found herself returning to it repeatedly. She wondered if Harry had read it and – if he had – if he understood the significance of it.

_April 25 th 1978_

_Exam time approaches. They are our final exams. They represent everything we have been working towards these past seven years and yet I find that I can hardly bring myself to care about them. Everyone is talking about how important they are, Dear Diary; about how they will shape our lives after Hogwarts. Even James, Sirius and Peter were speculating about what they would do after school is over and for the first time it occurred to me – really occurred to me – just how cursed I am. It occurred to me that I could get fifty outstanding NEWTS and they still won’t be worth the paper they will be written on because no one gives a job to a werewolf. There are no career paths open to werewolves._

_I have always known this, I think. I have just chosen to ignore it until now. My friends have helped me to do this, of course. They have always said my condition is of no importance and when I think of the effort they put in to become Animagi for my sake I find myself humbled by their friendship. But this friendship has allowed me to forget that they are the exception. That the reality is that I am despised. I have already sensed it among my own kin. Some of my extended family are uncomfortable in my presence and try as they might they cannot hide their unease or their revulsion. This nose never lies._

_So what do I do, Dear Diary? What is to be my lot in life? How will I support myself once I am on my own? And I will be on my own for what woman can ever love me? What prospect do I have of enjoying a normal life? Of finding a woman to love and marry and have children with? Children? Hah! Puppies more like…_

_I guess I am just feeling sorry for myself. James and Sirius would kill me if they read this. I should count my blessings rather than curse the fates. I have friends. That will be enough. It will have to be enough for I cannot conceive of how I can ever have anything more._

Hermione stopped reading at this point and became aware of a feeling of panic well within her. Since she had learned of her own curse she too had allowed herself to forget just how serious her plight was. The support and love given to her by Ron and Harry – not to mention Minerva – had caused her to take her eye off the reality of the situation. Remus’ despair; his hopelessness and his fear had acted like a slap in the face. That she had needed such a slap was not of any consolation to her. She felt the first hint of tears well in her eyes and she angrily wiped them away.

‘Are you OK?’

She looked up, startled by the sudden question and found herself facing the concerned face of Harry. She offered a tremulous smile.

‘I’m fine. This book is fantastic.’ She forced her smile wider. ‘Thanks for giving me a copy.’

She watched him smile in return, reassured.

‘You’re welcome,’ he replied.

Hermione nodded to him and turned her attention back to the journal, glad that Harry did not have her ability. That he could not sense the lie, nor could he read her as she could read him. As she had always been able to read him.

Harry looked at his friend and wondered what particular passage had disturbed her. He had his suspicions but decided to let matters lie for the moment. He glanced thoughtfully at his own copy of the journal in his hand and turned once again to the entry dated April 25th 1978\. He shook his head, aware that he did not need to be a werewolf to know when Hermione was lying to him. He just hoped that his friend would come to realise this for herself.


	11. Wolfsbane

Fenrir Greyback leaned to one side and carefully peered around the trees he was using as cover for this particular “mission.” The target in question was an attractive little cottage in the Peak District and one that was home to a young magical family.

He preferred them young.

He’d been casing the cottage for most of the morning and had watched the young couple as they played with their two young children. It occurred to him that since the fall of the Dark Lord, people were becoming complacent and were letting their guard down. Greyback shook his head in amazement at the stupidity of some people. Didn’t they realise there was more than one darkness in the world?

He’d been lying low since the battle at Hogwarts. He’d only just managed to escape with his life after being finally brought down by the Longbottom and Weasley boys; two who would pay for their insolence - the mudblood Granger would pay too. In the ensuing chaos following Potter’s victory, he’d managed to slip out of the castle unnoticed and had been using these past few weeks to recover, lick his wounds and try and reform his resources after the massive casualties they’d suffered.

The waiting was over. Now it was time to remind everyone just how dangerous he was. He was actually pleased at the fall of the Dark Lord. While he would acknowledge that Voldemort provided him with plenty of fresh prey, he was aware that the Dark Lord had never accorded him any respect and viewed him even lower than mudbloods and muggles. He had only ever been a weapon to the Dark Lord and had never gained his respect.

This was all going to change. He was his own master now. The Dark Lord did leave one legacy, one that he would use to change their world. One he would use to gain their respect. Werewolves would soon be crawling to join his pack once they realised what he had in his possession.

_The ability to control his lycanthropy and change at will._

Although he could have launched an attack at any point in the past 4 weeks, he’d decided to wait until the full moon. It wasn’t just because he was more powerful at this time, it just felt _right_ to him; that his return should be done properly. He’d learned from the Dark Lord that fear and power could often be enhanced by powerful symbols and announcing his return at the full moon was a powerful symbol. Tonight, the magical world would learn to fear again.

With that thought giving him comfort, he slid behind the trees again and continued his vigil. Stalking the prey was almost as much fun as devouring it. He licked his lips in anticipation.

_Almost._

oOoOoOoOoOo

Hermione grimaced as Minerva proffered her a goblet that positively smouldered, emitting a faint blue smoke that did not auger well. This was the seventh time she’d gone through this little ritual having taken a dose on each of the preceding six days. She knew that the way one must imbibe Wolfsbane Potion was unique in that a goblet must be taken for each day of the week preceding the full moon. Unfortunately, her familiarity with the process did not make it any easier. Taking a deep breath, she pinched her nose between thumb and forefinger, tilted her head back, and poured the potion quickly down her throat in the vain hope that haste would lessen the appalling taste.

It didn’t work this time either.

She sat absolutely still for a moment, stretching her arm to its fullest extent as if trying to get the goblet as far away from her as possible. Then her body convulsed in a shudder that she felt from the hairs on her head right down to the nails on her toes.

‘Ugh! That is simply awful! Why does sugar stop it working properly?” she griped as she finally placed the empty goblet on to the headmistresses’ desk.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Minerva smiled. ‘You should consider yourself fortunate! When I was younger, no such option existed for werewolves; at least you know that there is a very real benefit to taking the potion.’

‘Should be a very real benefit, you mean. You are assuming this will work.’

Minerva’s expression darkened at Hermione’s observation. ‘Horace has done his best – I have no doubt that this will prove good enough. For all his many faults, he is a superb potions master and he did have access to Severus’ notes. I have every faith in his abilities.’

Hermione took comfort from these words. She _was_ lucky; Wolfsbane was an extremely difficult potion to make, as even Slughorn claimed that the great Damocles Belby couldn't have invented it without immense effort. Very few potions masters were able to successfully brew it. Severus Snape had been one such master, she thought, surprising herself with feeling more than a hint of sadness at that fact. Slughorn had admitted that he had not brewed a batch for years but had stated that with access to Severus’ notes, he had every confidence that he could brew it correctly once again.

She also knew she was fortunate simply because the ingredients required to brew the potion were ruinously expensive, making it nigh-impossible for werewolves to brew it themselves, as they usually lived in poverty due to their difficulty in finding stable careers. She’d read in Lupin’s diary that one of the main reasons he’d returned to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was because Albus Dumbledore offered a limitless supply of the Wolfsbane Potion. She found herself wondering if such a future career option would be available to her now that Dumbledore was gone too. Minerva may be the deserved headmistress of Hogwarts but Hermione wasn’t sure if her mentor had enough authority in their society to face down the opposition that would be sure to come were it to be announced that a werewolf was returning to the Castle.

As if reading her thoughts, Minerva interrupted her reverie. ‘Have you made a decision yet, my dear?’

Hermione shook her head, knowing that she needed more time. As the school was still closed for repair, Minerva had informed her of the offer to allow all students to re-sit the academic year that had just ended. Not only had the school lost nearly two months of the final term, the tutelage under Snape and the Carrows for the previous eight months had been almost non-existent for every form year in the school. With focus on blood purity rather than on a proper curriculum, no one had received a decent education. Come September 1st, everyone had the chance to do the year over again properly – if they wanted to.

That this offer had been extended to Ron, Harry and herself had taken her aback. It was not something she had considered and she still didn’t know what to do. She had no clue as to what Harry and Ron were planning either. Six weeks ago her answer would have been an immediate “YES!!!” but now things had changed so much – she had changed so much – that she was as yet undecided. All her previous plans to pass her NEWTS and consider her career options had been blown away by events.

‘I still don’t know what to do. The idea appeals but then I think that I’ll spend the year being gawped at by half the students. It will be a million times worse for Harry too. After everything we’ve done, going back to school seems so…’

‘So normal,’ Minerva finished for her. ‘It might be just exactly what you need. I can assure you that Hogwarts and her staff will treat you exactly like any other students or I’ll know the reason!’ She had raised her voice as she finished speaking and calmed herself with an effort. ‘Returning to Hogwarts might be exactly what you need, my dear.’ She paused for a moment. ‘It means we will be able to manage your…condition until such times as you have adapted.’ She smiled sadly. ‘We have certain experience in these matters and I will do everything in my power to maintain the strictest confidentiality. I do not consider it to be anyone’s business save mine, yours and anyone you choose to share the information with. Rest assured no one will hear anything of it from me.’

Hermione could only smile her gratitude. Minerva McGonagall was proving to be a rock that she could anchor herself against. Tonight she would discover just how good a potion master Horace Slughorn was and she knew that much depended on this. If she could at least maintain control of the beast, she knew her future life would be bearable.

‘I’ll wait until after tonight,’ she finally replied. ‘If the potion works then that will make my decision easier. I’ll let you know in the morning.’

The headmistress nodded her understanding and found herself with yet another reason for hoping that Horace would be able to live up to his reputation.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Harry flopped onto the leather sofa in the Gryffindor common room and allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction as he enjoyed a precious moment alone. Since returning to the school earlier in the week, he had been heavily involved in the restoration of the battle ravaged castle and could now see visible signs of progress; he reckoned there was an excellent chance of meeting the September 1st deadline.

Of course, he had only made a small contribution to the overall effort. Every available house elf was working in shifts around the clock to restore the castle’s former glory. With the Headmistress overseeing the entire operation, he, Ron, Hermione and Ginny had meekly obeyed any and all instructions that were given. The work was difficult but enjoyable as there was much satisfaction to be had from giving back to the school that had given them so much. For all the many dangers he had faced here, Hogwarts was the nearest thing he had to call home and he felt privileged to be afforded the opportunity to help. The destruction had been total – barely a corner of the castle had been left untouched - and the majority of the work was beyond the capability of a simple _Reparo_ spell. Thankfully, the castle itself seemed to aid them when necessary and he had been reminded once again that Hogwarts was so much more than a building. He’d found himself thinking of Dumbledore a lot recently.

_Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it._

It would seem that the old man would continue to surprise him, even in death. The castle _was_ helping and he recognised once again that anything that Dumbledore had ever uttered could be said to have at least three interpretations. It was if the old man had known all along what would be required in the future.

Smiling, he leaned back into the sofa, placing his hands behind his head as he mused on the past week. He’d initially been surprised when Ginny had accompanied them to help with the repairs, but then he’d realised that she was probably desperate to get out of the Burrow and away from the mournful atmosphere that pervaded there. For all that Molly and Arthur tried to put a brave face on it there was no getting away from the grief that Fred’s loss has caused. It was less than a month since he’d been buried and he knew that Ginny would want the distraction. Having lost so many people close to him in his short life, he knew exactly how she felt.

He’d been apprehensive at first as he was aware of an awkwardness that existed between them since he’d broken things off. Despite this, he’d been pleasantly surprised by Ginny’s behaviour; she’d acted as if nothing had happened and their relationship had reverted back to what it had been at the start of his sixth year before he’d been interested in her romantically. He was more pleased about this than he could express as Ginny’s friendship was something he valued and did not want to lose. It was a great relief to him that any issues between them had been resolved. He found himself smiling at the thought.

He only wished he could say the same about Ron and Hermione.

He found his urge to smile suddenly removed. He couldn’t put his finger on it but something was definitely awry between the two of them. For one thing, he’d no idea if they were even an item any more. There was no closeness between them; no physical contact or intimate moments shared. They had been cooped up in the castle together all week and hadn’t shared a cross word between them. He found this suspicious rather than a cause for optimism. If Ron and Hermione weren’t arguing about something stupid at least some of the time, something was wrong. They were _too_ polite with each other; their attitude towards each other could best be described as…proper. They bore the mannerisms of two protagonists who had just fought a duel – polite, civil, formal, yet utterly frigid and stiff. For the life of him he couldn’t work out what was going on between them and it was driving him mad.

Harry had few certainties in his life but one of them was his friendship with Hermione. She was without a doubt the finest person he knew and he counted himself blessed that she counted him among her closest friends. She was, honest, sincere, reliable, fiercely loyal and loving and found himself wondering if Ron fully appreciated what he had in front of him.

_He better do._

The relationship between Ron and Hermione was now giving cause for concern. When he wasn’t being overly polite in her company, Ron was morose and irritable. Hermione too wasn’t beyond reproach; he didn’t think she was being fair to Ron. Either she wanted to be his girlfriend or she didn’t. It wasn’t fair to leave the situation open to ambiguity and with each passing day it became less and less clear just what their relationship was. Ron was Ron and wasn’t going to change; if she couldn’t accept him the way he is then it would be better for everyone if she said so now.

He hasn’t voiced these concerns to either of them yet but he knew that if things didn’t improve he would need to say something. It wasn’t a conversation he was looking forward to. He also knew that he would need to wait until after tonight before broaching the subject. So much was at stake tonight – they would find out soon enough if Slughorn’s Wolfsbane potion was good enough. If it was – if Snape’s notes were that good – then he had no doubt that Hermione would soon be brewing it herself.

He was nervous about tonight; he knew how important control was to Hermione. Remus had made clear in his journal the difference the potion made to his life. He only hoped that it would have the same impact on his dearest friend. For now all he could do was wait.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Minerva McGonagall glanced out of the window of what she now considered as Hermione’s “cell” and watched as the last rays of the sun slowly began to dip below the horizon. She turned to her favourite student, aware of the gamble she was undertaking. Having been through this three times already with Hermione, Minerva was aware of the significance of this night. This time, there would be no chains – only bars.

This was significant because if the Wolfsbane potion did not work, Hermione in her untamed wolf form would ultimately bite and scratch herself, such would be her frustration and her primal rage. She had actually witnessed this before with a young Remus Lupin and knew first hand that this process left both deep physical and psychological scars. It was actually the latter that she feared the most; in her extensive experience, the mind took the longest to heal. She uttered a silent prayer that this would not happen this time.

‘Are you ready?’ she asked quietly.

Hermione only nodded as she too turned to watch the dying embers of the sun. ‘As ready as I’ll ever be. You had better leave.’

Minerva nodded and gave the lock on the bars one final check. ‘I’ll be back once the moon is out.’

‘No!!! You mustn’t! It’s too dangerous.’ There was real fear in Hermione’s voice.

‘I’m afraid that I must,’ Minerva calmly replied. ‘If you think I am waiting all night to find out if this works then you are clearly not as clever as I thought you were.’ Despite the situation, both women smiled at these words. ‘I will merely stick my head around the door to check – don’t worry; I will not get too close.’

Hermione nodded her acceptance, realising the futility of arguing with the Headmistress once she had made up her mind. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

Minerva gave a brisk nod before turning and stepping out of the room, closed the door and finally sealed the magical bolts before leaning her head against the thick oak barrier. In around ten minutes they would know for sure. She had no doubt this would be the longest ten minutes of her life.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Hermione stood in the cold cell and hugged herself in the blanket she had wrapped around her shoulders, seeking comfort when there was little to be found. She was aware of the risks involved tonight; aware that if Slughorn had not brewed the potion correctly then she could seriously damage herself. Minerva had suggested that she use the chains just to be sure but Hermione did not want this. She sought control more than anything and would not have this if chained to a wall – even if she did have control of her mind. She’d weighed up the pros and cons and decided to gamble.

She watched as the first hint of moonlight began to creep in through the window as the sun finally dipped below the horizon. Closing her eyes she focussed on her breathing as she waited for the first pulse; the first surge that was the harbinger of her change. Such was her concentration she almost missed it, the same as her first transformation. She recognised the surge within her, almost welcoming it as she knew that her questions would soon be answered.

She lurched suddenly and fell to her knees as her body convulsed violently. It felt much as before and she experienced the same inability to control her own movements as the pain once again coursed throughout her body. She gritted her teeth, determined not to scream as she experienced the familiar stretching sensation as her muscles and sinews were strained to their limit. She felt herself baring her teeth and watched dispassionately as her fingernails expanded and turned into claws. She experienced a sudden, final surge of agonising pain, and closed her eyes as panic threatened to overwhelm her.

Then everything stopped. A long silence stretched for what seemed like an eternity as the wolf form on the floor breathed deeply.

Then Hermione Granger opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. She slowly stood up, taking a few moments to maintain her balance. She held her arms out, turning them over as her eyes took in every inch of fur, her eyes widening in amazement as she beheld her razor sharp claws. It took a few moments for the implications of this to sink in; for the realization to finally hit.

_I am me! I am aware!_

Were it not for the limitations of her canine jawbone structure, she would have smiled.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Minerva McGonagall unsealed the magical bolts on the door, gently prised it open and tentatively peered around the thick oak planks. She was careful to go nowhere near the iron bars on the other side of the room until she was sure. It took a few moments for her eyes to become accustomed to the lack of light in the room but once they did she noticed a darker shape in the far corner. It actually looked like a sack of coal that had been carelessly dumped but as she took a step into the room there was a sudden movement and Minerva became aware of a set of piercing brown eyes that regarded her calmly. Daring to hope, she moved closer.

‘Hermione?’

In response, the “lump” in the corner moved and stretched and suddenly there was a full-size werewolf in front of the headmistress. Despite the distance between them and the iron bars – not to mention her prior feelings of hope – she took an involuntary step back. Then the werewolf in front of gently padded across the cell and picked up a blanket before wrapping it round its shoulders. Then it lay back down again, curling up and closing its eyes as if asleep.

Minerva found herself quietly weeping as she realised the significance of what she was witnessing.

‘Oh, Hermione; I’m so happy for you. I’ll go and tell Harry and Ron that it worked! They’ll be on tenterhooks!’

With these words, she scurried out of the room, sealing the door behind her and rushing off to spread the good news.

On the other side of the door, Hermione closed her eyes and let herself drift off to a contented sleep.


	12. The Best Laid Plans...

Horace Slughorn had one eye closed as he crouched down over his work bench, squinting as his open eye carefully gauged his scales as he made sure they balanced perfectly. He was actually whistling some nameless tune to himself but such was his level of concentration, he was completely oblivious to this fact. The reasons for his ebullient mood were threefold. On the one hand, he was doing what he did best; working in his lab and using every skill at his disposal to create this most intricate of potions. A second factor was that his efforts this past week had been entirely successful – the successive batches of Wolfsbane potion that he had brewed had all been perfect. The evidence for this was the presence of the brown-haired witch who stood next to him in his lab.

This was the third reason for his good mood and also the most gratifying.

When Minerva had approached him with Severus’ potions notes and requested that he brew a batch of Wolfsbane potion, he was both excited and curious. Excited because the thought of having access to these notes meant he would likely become the pre-eminent Potions Master in the country - despite his personal vanity, he knew that Severus had been his superior in this department and these notes would help him enormously.

He was also curious, however, because it was evident from Minerva’s mien that this was extremely important to her and he found himself wondering for whom the potion was intended. When he’d eventually discovered that it was for Miss Granger he’d nearly had a heart attack. Miss Granger was someone that he’d had his eye on ever since Harry Potter had described her as the best witch in the year. It had not taken long for this claim to be justified; her skill and talent – not to mention her intelligence – shone through in just about everything she attempted. She would have been a prime candidate for his little soirees even if she had not been best friends with Harry Potter.

Now she was the most famous witch in Britain and closer to Harry Potter than anyone alive. A true hero of the war and – apart from Potter himself - one who did more than anyone else to bring down the Dark Lord. That she was a werewolf did not bother him; he was sure that her future would be golden, providing she did not advertise her condition.

And now she was beholden to him. Not only was he brewing her potion, he was entrusted with keeping her secret. It was something he fully intended to do – there was no way he was going to blow the chance to “collect” the two of the most famous people in the magical world. Besides, the chances of her enjoying a golden future would be enhanced if the secret could be maintained. He’d learned a long time ago that gratitude was powerful coin and he had no intention of blowing this windfall.

She’d actually embraced him when she’d entered his lab this morning. Her joy and laughter had been infectious and her gratitude obvious and sincere. When she had asked if he could teach her how to brew the Wolfsbane potion he’d been only too happy to agree. Things were certainly looking up; if Miss Granger could be counted as one of his allies then Mr Potter would be sure to follow.

He brought himself out of his reverie, realising that he had to focus on the job at hand. He examined the scales again and gave a satisfied nod, content that the ingredients were perfectly balanced. He carefully removed them and inserted them into little dishes before placing them on his laboratory bench in the correct order.

‘You see, my dear, to successfully brew any potion, the preparatory work is crucial. Whether the potion is simple or – as in this case – the most complicated, it is vital that you follow the same procedure. I have carefully measured out every ingredient and placed them in the correct order. This greatly reduces the chance of error.’

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. She well knew the importance of good preparation; it was why she was a good potions brewer herself. But she decided to indulge the professor for now. He had many, many faults but by successfully brewing the Wolfsbane and thus ensuring she retained control, she could forgive him a lot. Besides, she was in such a good mood this morning she wasn’t going to let anything spoil it.

When Minerva had unsealed the magical bolts at dawn and entered the cell, they had embraced, their relief obvious. While the pain of transformation remained, the fact that she retained control was everything to her. She could even remember when Minerva had checked on her – despite being in her wolf form she had recognised the headmistress and had felt the same sense of love and respect she always did when contemplating her friend. This meant more to her than Slughorn would ever know so she would cut him a _lot_ of slack. She’d do everything in her power to make sure Harry and Ron did too.

She shook herself out of her thoughts and contemplated the workbench in front of her. The sheer volume of ingredients involved told her that this would be the most complicated potion she’d ever attempted and would need her full concentration. Everywhere she looked was beakers and dishes all filled with herbs and roots, berries and fungi and all carefully arranged in a specific order. Not only that, every ingredient had been carefully weighed or counted three times to make sure the exact amount was available. It was a methodical and time-consuming task but it had to be done for if even one item was missing, if even one measurement was wrong, the potion wouldn’t work.

Slughorn had explained that as a synodic month – the time between full moons – was 29 days, the number 29 played a significant role when brewing the potion. 29 clockwise stirs; 29 juniper berries; 29 aconite leaves; 29 grams of moonseed – the list went on and on and for once in her life she felt intimidated by the intellectual challenge that faced her. Her respect for Slughorn went up another notch.

She turned suddenly, reacting to a knock on the door of the Potions lab. Glancing over, she noticed a look of annoyance flash on the features of Slughorn. He had specifically asked not to be disturbed due to the levels of concentration required.

‘Miss Granger, please note down that the last ingredient I have placed in the cauldron was the moonseed. It is vital that we do not lose our place or we will need to start again.’

Hermione nodded and jotted down “moonseed added” into her notebook as Slughorn crossed the room and opened the door. His scowl was soon replaced by a beaming smile.

‘Harry, my boy! Great to see you! Do come in, do come in,’ he added as he ushered his star “collectable” into the lab. He completely ignored Minerva and Ron who accompanied him and also missed the grim looks on their faces such was his delight at seeing Harry. Hermione never missed it. She didn’t miss much these days.

‘What is it?’ she asked, and there was a touch of fear in her voice as she viewed their expressions. She would have known from their faces that something was wrong but there was no hiding from her heightened senses. He was worried; really worried. So was everyone else, but Harry’s scent seemed to block out all else. ‘What’s wrong?’

Harry didn’t know how to reply – he felt sick to his core. Last night he’d been so happy but that feeling had soon turned to ashes. Last night he and Ron had stood waiting in in the common room when the Headmistress had burst in with the good news about Hermione. To say that he had been relieved at her tidings was an understatement; he’d actually found himself crying, something he’d been doing quite a lot of lately. He guessed Hermione just had that effect on him at times.

There had been no cheering – instead a quiet satisfaction that things could only get better for their dear friend. He’d also vowed at that moment to cut Slughorn some slack because no matter how nauseating he found the whole idea of the “Slug Club” his success at brewing the potion made up for so much. He and Ron had been a much happier pair of friends that had headed to bed that night and both had slept much better than was the norm of late.

That happiness had been short-lived though and it was with a sense of dread that he tried to work out what to say to his friend. He, Ron and Minerva had argued at length this morning until he’d finally prevailed. Now it was time to see if he was right.

‘There’s been an attack,’ he said quietly.

‘An attack?’

He nodded, unsure how to continue. Typically, he was spared from any further pain as he watched her work it out. Her face changed from one of curiosity to a grimace of understanding.

_She always was too clever for her own good._

‘A werewolf attack?’ she asked tentatively.

Harry nodded.

‘Where? Who?’ she demanded. Her tone was impossible to decipher. It was flat, devoid of emotion.

‘A young family in the Peak District. No one we know, but that doesn’t matter. They were _someone’s_ loved ones. They were cut to pieces.’

She nodded absently, aware that there was something else they were not telling her, aware too that she felt as if the walls were closing in around her. Once again though, her intelligence served her well.

‘Greyback?’ she whispered.

Harry nodded. ‘Bill visited the scene. He confirmed it was Greyback’s scent.’ He licked his lips, and Hermione knew there was more to come. ‘It’s in today’s _Prophet_.’

She nodded her understanding. ‘May I see? Do you have a copy?’

All his life Harry had hated it when people kept things from him. Dumbledore had been particularly guilty in this regard but he was not the only one. As a result, he believed in full disclosure regardless how bad the tidings were. This is what he, Ron and Minerva had been arguing about earlier. He had won in the end but as he passed the newspaper to his friend and watched her reaction as she read the lurid headlines, it felt like a defeat.

Hermione’s hand trembled as she read the front page of the paper Harry had given her. She could hardly believe what she was reading.

**_Massacre!_ **

_The magical world was thrown back into chaos today after the horrific attack on a young family by a werewolf or werewolves unknown. Matthias Cook (36), his wife Sylvia (34) and their two children Henry (5) and Susan (3) were brutally slain in a savage attack at their home in the Peak District last night. Preliminary investigations leave no doubt that at least one of the perpetrators was a werewolf with one of the attending Aurors describing the scene as a “slaughterhouse.”_

_Despite the recent victory over the Dark Lord, these vile creatures seem hell-bent on continuing the war and this newspaper believes that we must eradicate this filth from our midst if we are ever to achieve peace._

_Acting Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt was not available for comment but it is anticipated he will take a hard line with werewolves…_

She stopped reading, suddenly feeling light-headed and she felt herself stumbling, only preventing herself from falling by throwing her arm out onto the potions bench for support. Harry quickly moved in to help, placing his arms around her and sweeping her away from the bench towards a seat in the corner. All eyes were on Hermione to the exclusion of all else. Ron quickly got her a glass of water and thrust it into her hands.

Hermione vaguely nodded her thanks and took a long drink. She closed her eyes as the implications of the attack hit home. Finally she managed to speak. ‘What will happen now, do you think?’

Harry wasn’t sure how to answer that but was saved from possibly making things worse with uninformed comment by Minerva answering for him.

‘It’s hard to tell, Hermione. Don’t believe everything you read in that rag – it’s pushing its own agenda. Kingsley will take a hard line with Greyback and anyone else who is involved but he won’t use this as ammunition for a blanket attack on all werewolves. That’s not his style.’

‘Other people will want him to though – powerful people,’ Hermione replied. ‘Kingsley said so himself; as Provisional Minister his position is relatively weak. This could be used against him.’

Minerva nodded. ‘I know. I just hope there are no more attacks any time soon. In the meantime, I suggest that you keep news of your own condition to as small a circle of trusted friends as possible. This is not the time to publicly reveal your lycanthropy.’

Hermione could only nod her agreement at that assessment. She was almost used to the prejudice that being a muggleborn brought from some quarters. She didn’t think she could cope with the vitriol that would come her way if this news got out. She glanced at her black-haired friend.

_Not even Harry could help me with that._

This realisation helped to galvanise her resolve. She stood up. ‘Professor Slughorn? If you are ready, I’d like to continue with the lesson? I believe the last ingredient we added was the moonseed?’ Her voice was proper – too proper- and she could sense that Harry could see right through her and the mask she was constructing.

Slughorn seemed to be shaken out of a trance by the question. While clearly rattled by the tidings he appreciated what Miss granger was doing – getting things back to as normal as she could. ‘Of course, Miss Granger, moonseed it was; let us move on to the next stage,’ he added as he returned to the bench.

Hermione noticed the look of concern in Harry’s eyes. ‘I’ll be OK, Harry,’ she began. ‘We can talk about this later; for now I just want to learn how to brew this potion. Is that alright?’

‘Of course it is,’ he replied, his voice thick. ‘You get back to work; we can talk later.’

She smiled at him before turning back to the ingredients in front of her. As Harry and the others left the lab she could sense his despair, his anxiety, his concern and even his love. She didn’t miss much these days. If there was one consolation in all of this, it was that she didn’t miss much anymore.

Unfortunately, one thing she _did_ miss was the solitary juniper berry that had been knocked out of its dish and had rolled onto the floor in all the commotion. It would be no consolation to her later on when it was finally discovered that everyone else had missed it too.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Ginny Weasley was starting to get _really_ annoyed; nothing seemed to be going right at the moment. Her plan had started well enough; when she’d heard that Ron, Harry and Hermione were going to help with the rebuilding of Hogwarts she’d made sure that she went with them. She’d truthfully told her mum and dad that she needed to get out of the house as the grief over Fred that everyone was feeling – including her – was suffocating. She needed a change of environment and Hogwarts provided the perfect solution.

This was all true; she did need to get out of the house and she did need something to take her mind off Fred. This was a reason for her wanting to leave home and spend time with her friends.

But not the only reason; there was of course Harry.

If she was honest with herself, her patience was wearing a bit thin. She’d expected Harry to have come running back to her by now, begging forgiveness and declaring his undying love, but this perfect moment was not yet forthcoming. She was also losing patience with Ron as his relationship with Hermione seemed to be disappearing under a wave of apathy and she knew that her own chances of success were intrinsically linked to her brother’s. If Ron and Hermione were successful as a couple, Harry would relax and stop worrying about his friends. This in turn would improve her own chances as Harry would seek company elsewhere. Pretty soon, she was sure, he would realise what he was missing.

She was also uncomfortably aware that she wanted Ron and Hermione to hook up because that would permanently take Hermione off the market – there was no way Harry would move in on his best mate’s girl. Despite the reassurances she had given to Ron a few weeks ago, she did worry about the relationship between Harry and Hermione. It did not seem natural to her that a male and female could be that close – could have such strong bonds between them – without there being a romantic element too. If she was really honest with herself – and she hated being really honest in such things – she was extremely jealous of Hermione. Her friend was clever, attractive and – crucially – closer to Harry than anyone else alive. Only Ron could assuage this jealousy and only if he could get his act together and snag Hermione for good.

And there was also the fact that Hermione had not slept in her dorm bed last night. All her friend had said when asked was that she was working on a project that meant she had to sleep elsewhere for a few nights. The curiosity was killing her; both with Hermione’s mystery project and her relationship with her brother.

She’d broached the subject with Ron only to be told that there were other factors affecting things at the moment; factors he could not tell her about. This just served to annoy her even more. She wasn’t stupid; she knew something was going on with the three of them but she could not work out what it was. In her frustration, she’d decided to take matters into her own hands. If Ron and Hermione couldn’t see what needed to be done for the good of everyone, she’d have to give them a little nudge.

With this thought in mind, Ginny allowed herself a small smile. She had managed to acquire something that sooner or later would grant her the opportunity to administer this little nudge. She just hoped for her sake that it would be sooner.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Hermione felt uncomfortable as she headed towards her usual “cell” in the bowels of the castle. She was accompanied by Ron and the two of them walked in step about a yard apart. They were early, for sunset was still nearly an hour away, but she thought that it would be a good opportunity for her and Ron to spend some time alone. In any other circumstances, she might have found it amusing but her PLT was playing up and she found that she lacked the patience to see the funny side of anything at the moment.

She’d been surprised when Ron had asked if she wanted some company as he had not seemed that interested of late and she wondered at his change of heart. She was aware that she hadn’t been fair to Ron recently. Despite their reconciliation after her return from Australia, they had not moved their relationship on to the next level. They were living in a middle ground where they were not exactly just friends but where they were not quite boyfriend/girlfriend either. Ron seemed too nervous to raise the issue with her and with everything that had being going on recently she found that their romantic relationship was now down around number 17 in her list of priorities. Somewhere between “polish wand” and “buy toothpaste,” she reckoned.

They were drowning in apathy.

She decided to make an effort to break the awkward silence between them but found that the only thing she had to talk about was what they were doing right now.

‘The headmistress has told me that she has arranged to have the bars removed from my room. She said that she wanted the place to be more comfortable but I’m not sure it’s worth the effort.’

‘Of course it’s worth the effort,’ Ron replied. ‘Anything that reminds you that you are still Hermione Granger instead of…what you become, is a good thing in my opinion.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘Was it difficult last night? You know…being aware that you were in your other form?’

‘Oh, Ron; don’t you get it?’ she asked. ‘It was much, much easier for me last night. It was strange at first recognising myself in that form – I’m glad there are no mirrors in my room because I don’t really want to see what I look like. But it was much, much better. I am in full control so it’s still me. Before I took the potion, I was lost – the beast just supressed me and I couldn’t do a thing about it. It’s the worst feeling in the world to lose awareness and control like that. This potion is a godsend.’

She’d already taken her dose for tonight’s transformation – tasting as horrible as ever - and as they finally arrived at the dungeon she felt more optimistic than she had for a long time despite the horrible news from the Peak District. As she opened the door she made a mental note to thank Minerva when she saw her in the morning. The room looked almost…homely.

Instead of the cold, stone floor, the headmistress had arranged to have some rugs thrown down and not only were there numerous blankets available, there was also a number of scarlet and gold cushions scattered around the room. The most obvious difference, however, was the lack of bars in the room and she was surprised at how much better this made her feel. She wasn’t being treated like some beast in a cage; the room was laid out for her almost as a guest. It made a huge difference and she felt a smile break out despite the ordeal that lay ahead.

She turned to Ron. ‘Can you stay for a while longer?’ she asked. ‘I think we need some time to ourselves,’ she added quietly.

Ron nodded his agreement and quietly closed the door behind them. There was much to discuss.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Horace Slughorn allowed himself a contended sigh as he slumped into the high-backed armchair in front of the fire in his potions lab. It had been an intense week and he felt that he deserved the glass of malt whisky that he had just poured for himself. For the past seven days his skill as a potion master had been put to the most severe test and he was delighted to have passed with flying colours.

He glanced around his lab - his personal domain. He knew he was a vain and fastidious person but he was also aware that this personality trait was what made him so good at potions. Severus Snape was another who shared this trait and it was no coincidence that he had been such a good man with a cauldron. Being fastidious meant doing things right first time, every time.

It also meant that he had an obsession with cleanliness and order. As a result, when he glanced around his lab he almost purred with contentment as he viewed the spotless potions bench; the washed and stacked dishes and beakers; the immaculately swept stone floor…

He sat up abruptly as something caught his eye under his workbench but when he looked closer he couldn’t see anything. He thought that he must have imagined it – that it was a trick of the flickering light – but the fussy trait that in part defined him prompted him to investigate further. With a mounting feeling that something was wrong, Horace stood and made his way over to the bench, removing his wand from his robes as he did so.

‘ _Lumos,_ ’ he muttered.

There _was_ something there. Adjusting his ample girth, Horace crouched as low as he could and stretched out his fat fingers, gently gathering the object into his hand. He stood up and stared intently at what he beheld.

It was a juniper berry. A solitary juniper berry and it was with a mounting sense of horror that Horace realised what this meant. He was a fastidious man – fastidious to a fault. Every day he cleaned and checked his lab and every day he left it in a state of perfect cleanliness. This meant that this berry must have somehow fallen on the floor today and that meant…

Horace raced out of the door as fast as his short legs would carry him. _It meant that only 28 juniper berries were added to the Wolfsbane Potion_.

It meant that the potion wouldn’t work.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Ginny congratulated herself on her patience as she carefully made her way through the corridors of Hogwarts. She’d known that her chance would come up sooner or later and was gratified that it had arrived sooner. She’d been sitting on her bed in Gryffindor Tower staring at the Marauder’s Map in wonder. When she’d first heard of the map’s existence she’d been sceptical but when Harry had shown her what it could do she’d struggled to contain her excitement at the possibilities it offered. When she’d asked Harry if she could borrow it he’d been only too happy to agree and she suspected that this was because he still felt a bit guilty over ending things between them. This didn’t bother her; she’d use any tool she could to get him back.

Earlier today she’d managed to convince Ron to speak to Hermione and as she sat looking at the map she’d been pleased to see that he was following her advice – two sets of footprints identifying Ron and Hermione could be seen walking together. It was where they were going that piqued her curiosity.

This was why she now found herself quietly walking down a stretch of Hogwarts’ corridor that she’d never seen before, the map guiding her footsteps towards her destination. This part of the castle was ancient; she could feel the history emanating from the old stones that surrounded her and she felt a sudden chill even though it was a warm, early summer evening.

She stopped abruptly, realising that Ron and Hermione had entered a room at the end of the corridor. Moving as quietly as she could, she peered around a large stone pillar and noticed a large oak door, closed but not sealed with the two magical bolts that adorned it. She really was curious now; she’d had no idea that this room existed and she wondered what it was for.

She edged towards the door, finally putting her ear up against it in an attempt to find out what was going on. She could hear a few mumbled words from within.

‘It seems very comfortable, Hermione. McGonagall’s done a grand job with this. You’ll be fine sleeping in here tonight.’

She recognised Ron’s voice and wondered. Then she was suddenly startled by what she heard next.

‘Ron, I think Ginny is standing outside. You didn’t tell her anything, did you?’

Ginny panicked. _How does she know that I’m here?_ Her plan to keep Ron and Hermione together was supposed to be a secret – she couldn’t bear the embarrassment of facing them at the moment – especially Hermione. What she really wanted was to make sure they had a chance to sort things out without interruption. She was only trying to help them, after all. She did the only thing that seemed likely to achieve this and would also get her out of an awkward conversation.

She slid the magical bolts into place.

‘I’ll be back in an hour!’ she shouted through the door, making a joke of the situation. ‘You two get cosy and I’ll let you out in an hour!’

Happy with her prank, Ginny made her way back towards the common room, vowing to let them out in an hours’ time. They might be a bit annoyed at her but she was confident that they would thank her in the long run. _They have a full hour to comfort each other_ she thought with a smile.

She glanced out of a window as she passed noticing that the sun would be setting soon and she reckoned the moon would be out in around ten minutes.

It promised to be a lovely night.


End file.
